Authors note: I'm sorry everyone. It's been a rough few years. You cannot believe how rough they have been. I understand it might be frustrating for my first update after three years to be for a new story, but my writing skills are rusty and I wanted to oil the hinges before diving back in to my others.
I've started on new chapters for all three of my other stories, so don't worry, you'll get them soon. I apologise in advance if my writing is different.
This is a crossover between Harry Potter and Twilight. I don't actually like twilight, but I like Harry Potter/Twilight Crossovers. I'll be ripping into several characters in both fandoms, and shoving them together like I please, much like I always do.
Oh! I've resolved to write longer chapters too! I have a feeling we'd all prefer that.
In this chapter we have Conflicted!Harry, Earnest!Dudley and Bewildering!Dursleys.
Enjoy.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything associated with it baring this story
Warnings: Potentially disturbing themes.
Xxx
My cousin,
It is strange for me to be writing to you. I can imagine how equally strange it is to be receiving a letter from me.
I have done a lot of thinking over the past year since I saved you from the Dementors, and it occurred to me that I never asked if you had recovered appropriately from that experience. If it helps, chocolate helps sooth the memories. I'd ask what you saw, but I doubt you'd tell me.
Classes here are fine. Boring, if you could call magic boring. I've started dating a girl whose temper puts your father's to shame, but something about her is intoxicating. Surely I'm in love. What do you think cousin?
I did a bit of research on Smelting's over the holidays. Like Eton isn't it? Congratulations on managing to get several years in. I'm glad you're finally putting that brain of yours to use.
What sort of subjects interest you? I'd quite like Potion's if the teacher wasn't a git. He hated my father apparently. Much like your mother hated my mum.
Sorry, sore subject.
If you like I could send you some sweets. Nothing too outrageous, but the quality given to magical food is simply crazy. It'd be a grave pity if you never sampled any.
Anyway, I can't think of anything to write. I wrote this on the off chance you'd like to try and move forward with our lives. We'll be adults soon. Wouldn't it be something if we could be in the same room without fighting?
Your Cousin
Harry
xxx
The book looked like any other dime a dozen journal. Hard spine, fake black leather, frayed red ribbon. It looked like the other five beside it, identical expect for the number one written on it in white-out.
Dudley smiled as he ran his fingers over it, cracking it open to the very first page.
There, on the paper, was a photo of him.
4 foot 10 inches. Round and pink and smiling the sickly smile his mother had taught him for when Aunt Marge came to visit. He remembered scowling before the picture had been taken, but the photographer hadn't made him smile; in fact, had seemed happy with his honest showing of emotion. So he'd changed at the last moment, for the sole intention of getting under the man's skin.
He had seemed just as happy at that, and a little more intrigued.
Mr Gerty, the child psychologist who had taken the photo, had been a nut for emotional expression.
When Dudley had first started Smeltings, he'd assumed it would be similar to Surrey Elementary. His father had filled his head with stories of arrogance and cruelty, and as a child he had not only thought it was normal, but liked it.
He'd been a bully at Elementary school, physically pushing kids around when they had something he wanted, ganging up on his cousin to beat him blue for…being a freak. Being abnormal. He didn't know.
He'd started Smeltings with the expectation that his bulk would allow him to get his way as he always had, but the minute he'd raised his stick to a classmate he'd been in detention faster than he could blink.
Two more instances of that, a bewildering phone call home to his father later, and he had been given to Mr Gerty for an assessment of suitability.
He hadn't known his place in the school was being revised; all he knew was that the man in front of him was giving him candy and asking him to talk. About anything. Everything. Whatever he had felt like discussing.
At first he'd been wary- adults didn't listen to children. Adults told kids what to do, and kids chose to do it or not.
But he'd been so lonely at the boarding school. Two months in and he hadn't made a single friend. His room mates ignored him, and he'd spent all his pocket money within the first few weeks.
He had nothing to do except schoolwork, which without the freak he found himself struggling in.
On top of that, it seemed that he was a minority among his relatively wealthy and well-educated classmates. He still didn't know what a legacy was, but his classmates hissed it at him whenever he did something stupid, which was often.
He assumed it was bad, as they looked as if they had stood in something rotten when they said it.
This was the first thing he'd asked the psychologist, seemingly out of the blue, mouth still full of powdered sherbet.
He wasn't to recognise the look that passed over the man's face, but if he had, he would say it was the first time anyone had looked at Dudley Dursley with pity on his behalf.
The man had asked him about these instances, and not being particularly bright or emotionally gifted, he'd reeled off the instances of bullying without concern. He'd felt the blows dealt to him, but used to physically intimidation, hadn't been aware that the children had progressed beyond dislike to verbally mocking him.
He'd cried in his bed when his roommates were asleep, thick tears leaking silently down his red face in his pillow, but the whole experience was punctuated with the certainty that he was turning into some sort of 'weak-wristed pansy'.
He had no idea why he was crying, only that some days, when his classmates were less bearable than normal, he couldn't stop it.
He'd asked Mr Gerty if he knew a way to stop it, and relieved, the man had asked him the names of the children who had said such mean things to him. Back then, he'd snorted through his candy, and clarified.
He wanted to know how to stop crying. Only girls cried, and only when hurt. And his cousin, but his cousin was a freak and that didn't count.
Gerty had written something down then, a queer look on his face, but didn't ask him to expand on his words.
Instead, Dudley had been asked what Bullying was.
''m not a bully!" he shouted. "I haven't hit anyone!"
He knew that was not entirely true and by the man's steady gaze was aware that he might have guessed that too.
But the man had been patient, and didn't push the point.
All he had done was explain to Dudley that he had been the victim of verbal bullying. Of course Dudley hadn't believed him. Boys like him couldn't be bullied.
He had refused to hear anything else on the matter, but had listened carefully when Mr Gerty explained that if he raised his stick to hit another boy again he would be sent back home.
At first he had been ecstatic at the news and resolved to hit the first kid he could see when he left the room. He hated the stuffy school, and their stupid rules, and the other children who spoke at him, not to him, like he was a dirty sock.
He missed his mum's hugs. And her cooking (Potter's cooking he corrected himself). He missed having someone else do his work for him so he could go and play games, or hang out with Piers (not that Potter is there at the moment).
He missed the telly when he finished school, and as much food as he could stuff himself with. And toys.
And Potter wasn't there at the moment. His dad would be calmer and his mum less prone to fits. This was a very good point. Probably the most compelling. He couldn't remember his parents before Potter fell into their life, but he was sure his parents would be so much nicer without the freak there to make them mad.
His mum would let him take his own baths. She wouldn't scrub him raw, muttering about freaks and filth under her breath. He wouldn't have to hold his kicking cousin still as his mum prayed over the boy every Sunday, tied to the cupboard door so he couldn't run away.
His dad would smile more. He wouldn't yell, because there would be nothing to yell about. He wouldn't come home smelling like alcohol, and he wouldn't have to sleep with a pillow over his head when his dad disciplined the freak on those nights. They could actually spend time together, and his dad would be able to focus on him for once.
But despite all the good points he rattled off to a pale phycologist (who hadn't told him he was thinking aloud), something told him not to.
Deep inside Dudley, the part of the boy not yet corrupted by his parents urged him to try for something better.
Surprisingly enough, he'd told the man something Harry had once told him, when they were seven, and Harry had stopped him from taking a stranger's candy.
"Don't be an idiot!" Harry had snapped, face twisting "You're not."
In true brat fashion, he'd kicked his cousin and run away, leaving man and boy by the van alone.
Years had passed since then, and he still remembered those words, shouted in anger. He treasured them secretly, because Harry had meant them. His cousin genuinely thought he could be clever. Even curled in a ball holding his stomach and head as Dudley and his friends cornered and kicked him, he could feel his cousins amused gaze, judging him. Laughing at him.
He hated his cousin for making him think about it. He hadn't known people thought him stupid until he was made to consider being 'clever'. His parents said he was perfect as he was, which had once made him feel invincible, and now made him think his parents thought he would always be mediocre. Or worse, that they genuinely thought he was as smart as they said. Which wasn't smart at all.
Being here, at this snobby school his father surely lied about liking, he knew they were wrong.
When he was younger, he had thought of people like Harry (well-spoken, well-written) as people who boys like him would one day order around. Smart people were there to do what strapping, popular lads told them to do.
But, he told the psychologist, it hadn't been like that at all since he'd started Smelting's.
His cousin, the freak, was at a boarding school too. Learning all sorts of things he could use against Dudley.
Dudley wouldn't learn anything back in Surrey, surely not anything to combat what his cousin would bring home. Even armed with wits his cousin would beat him down until Dudley lost it and started hitting him.
But Dudley wanted to give back what he could. Having been told these people were like his cousin- smart, not magic- he resolved to stay and get better. More 'clever'.
He'd seen his father hit Harry when he was meant to be out of the room- he'd recognised fear on his father's purple face (even if anger nearly smothered it). He'd even seen it on his mum, although he could see something else he thought was jealousy, which didn't really make sense at the time, but now made him determined to do better.
For all he loved his parents, if being at this school had taught him one thing, it was that they weren't terribly bright either.
More importantly, he definitely couldn't let Piers or Malcolm learn he'd been kicked out of school. Piers was a bit of a nerd, but he had a mean left hook which is why he'd been left alone, and later befriended. Piers would've laughed at him. He never would have lived it down.
Malcolm, the bag of bricks, would have seen it as a yet another weakness (the first his weight and slow waddle), and tried something funny. He didn't want to go back to a fist in the face.
So he listened to Mr Gerty as he outlined a new set of rules just for him. He was given a journal to write in (NOT a diary) and told to see the man every Friday after classes.
He'd sat petulantly through the photo taken of him, which he'd pasted in the journal as requested, and resolved to ignore the other kids until he was smart enough to fight back.
Mr Gerty had smiled when he said he wanted to stay, and he'd felt something warm settle in his gut when the man had said he was proud of his maturity. He could picture his father scowling at his sentimentality, so he'd stamped it down, but it was still there, glowing softly.
It was enough to get him to write in his book every few days and attend the sessions as scheduled.
Six years on and one persistent psychologist later, Dudley could confidently say he'd changed for the better.
He looked down at a random page, snorting when he read the messy, rather rambling title:
'Reasons why my cousin isn't a freak (or why he is but that doesn't make him bad, or at least why I shouldn't hit him so much)
He could see Mr Gerty's handwriting scrawled across the page near the top- one of the last times he'd written in the books before they'd decided Dudley had shown enough progress to be trusted outright to complete his entries.
'The sentiment is quite good Dudley; a little more positivity and goodwill would not go astray, but all in all, a vast improvement on earlier entries regarding empathy.
He glanced over the list, shuddering briefly at numbers 3 and 6 before closing the book. He'd revealed more than he'd thought in these books, and with an older eye, some of it was quite damning.
But his cousin had extended an olive branch!
This past year he'd been cautious, then almost all at once absolutely delighted when his cousin had started owling him.
There hadn't been much interest in the fact that an owl was delivering him mail, so he put it down to magic and left it at that.
Dudley stood, dusting down his slacks as he did.
Outside the weather was surprisingly pleasant. It didn't match the bundle of nerves that writhed and coiled in his stomach at all.
Walking to the window, he looked down to see his mother angrily pruning the roses. Usually she'd leave it for Harry to do, but this summer he was coming of age. He knew his cousin would refuse to do a damned thing
It was also a matter of pride that she have the house spotless for his return. She couldn't bare the thought that her freak of a nephew could keep the place more spick-span that she could.
I mean, he did, but she was relatively delusional.
He cringed. Not even a year ago he never would have thought of his mother like that, but the letters from Harry had gone a long way towards opening his eyes for good.
His lips gave a nervous twitch, and he jumped slightly when downstairs his father swore, stumbling into the wall when he leant down to put his shoes on.
It was almost time to pick his cousin up, and despite wanting to be there to greet his cousin at the station, Harry had thought it was better if he stayed at home.
He'd complied, because no matter how much smarter he'd become, and despite him not really understanding why it made a difference, Harry would always be twenty steps ahead of him.
Besides, this way he could be sure to make the best impression on his cousin.
And although he didn't quite know why, nothing was as important as making a favourable impression on Harry at the moment.
His hands shook as he tucked his shirt in neater, eyes glazed and face pale as he fidgeted, going through his mental checklist over and over in his head.
He strode back to his desk to slump tiredly against the wood, carefully stacking his journals tidily in order. Sinking into the leather of his desk chair, he fixed his eyes on the door, ears straining for any hint of his father's car returning.
He wanted to be there to greet Harry at the door before his father had a chance to force Harry through it head first.
Xxx
'Five minutes until we reach the station. Will all students and staff make their way back to their compartments to prepare for arrival'.
About time, thought Harry.
He hadn't needed to change into his muggle clothing. He hadn't bothered to put on a robe this morning, instead changing into a pair of dark gray slacks and a black silk button up he'd purchased with some of his revenue from the Twins' shop.
Sitting opposite him, still half asleep on the red leather, Neville and Ginny were slowly uncurling from each other to shrug off their robes and put them in their trunks.
Repressing a disdainful sneer Harry nodded in response to their awkward smiles, being civil but refusing to make it easy on them.
"Harry…" Ginny began. She was obviously uncomfortable, but Harry could see the anger slowly creeping over her, like vines on a mossy rock.
"Please don't be mad at us Harry" said Neville.
Harry wanted to laugh at the both of them. Wanted to shake the stupidity out of Neville and shove the life debt in Ginny's face.
But he didn't.
"I'm not mad," he murmured, teeth flashing, eyes sizzling like green poison. "I couldn't possibly be mad. Why, when two people are made for each other, honest peas in a pod, who am I to step in the way of true love? You deserve each other" he smiled. "You're both welcome to everything you so deserve."
He saw Neville flinch, saw the realisation flickering in his horrified eyes before it was smothered with the same deliberate naivety he'd always had.
Ginny bit her tongue, heaving with the effort of keeping her not-so-kind thoughts in. As it was, she couldn't help herself completely.
"It's not you truly loved me Harry" she implored, big brown eyes gleaming "you never said it once. Not once! And you never kissed me the way I wanted to be kissed, or spent time with my friends with me! Not like Neville does!
I don't think you really appreciated me for me. And it hurt, finding out that your hero was just a boy all along. It broke my heart. You can't blame me for finding someone who could be there for me like I needed. "
Against his will, Harry flinched, images flickering in his mind.
Him, exhausted from training, stumbling back to the common room to spend an hour with Ginny before passing out, willingly giving up precious sleep to watch her talk.
Him, picking wildflowers because they reminded him of her, wild and beautiful and untamed by nature. Watching as she scolded him for picking weeds. Comparing his heartfelt gesture to the beautiful red roses everyone else was given. Wanting the same thoughtless mediocrity other couples practised.
Him, trying to spend time with her friends, scowling over them talking about him not to him. Watching Ginny preen over the attention. He let it happen, but he couldn't be there again when it did. He wasn't meat.
Him, asking Dean what Ginny liked. Being laughed at. Seeing the knowing smirk on the other boys face when he was blown off yet again so she could talk with her classmates. Amusement turning to something he thought might be bewilderment as Harry tried again to spend time with her, being rebuffed for something trivial, later yelled at for ignoring her as he went to bed. Bewilderment turning to anger as Harry presented the girl with what he knew to be thoughtful gifts, thoughtful dates, thoughtful thoughts. Dean was jealous of Ginny but sorry for Harry, so eventually, Dean told him. Ginny wanted everything.
Him, scared of kissing Ginny. Scared of touch. Scared of intimacy. Pushing back flashes of dark vans and stale sweat. 'Pretty boy, oh, yes, such a pretty boy." Wanting to explain himself to Ginny, watching her storm off angrily before he could open his mouth.
Harry, resigned to doing what everyone else did, not even sure he wanted to be with her anymore but honour bound by his own moral code.
Harry, roses in hand (red, a dozen, 12 sickles), entering the common room. Pushing past a strangely frantic Dean and Seamus.
Harry, speechless in the doorway at the sight that met him, Ginny kissing Neville by the fire. The entire common room avoiding his eyes.
Harry numb, listening to her scream at him across the room, finding out Neville had been in the picture for nearly two months. Neville, shy, sweet Neville. The boy who had listened to him when no one else had. The only one who knew even a modicum of what he went through at home.
Neville, who had betrayed him more than Ginny had.
He'd spent the last month of term speaking to no one. Ron and Hermione had mustered enough interest to attempt to be there for him, but between Ron's speculations that he should have known what was happening after a full year of dating her, and Hermione's bookish advice, he'd tuned them out. Eventually they'd faded into the background as they had since Sirius' death, busy with prefect duties and each other.
He hadn't noticed as much between Ginny and training, but somewhere along the way they'd drifted apart.
It didn't bother him as much as it could have. He'd been preparing contingency plans for the last two years in case his life went to shit.
But he'd be damned if he let people he'd thought were his comrades get off easy.
"What's my favourite colour Ginny?" he asked, voice deceptively mild. "Or my my favourite food? Or hobby? What do I want to do when I finish school?"
She stared at him, mouth open mid-sentence, before scowling unattractively, face twisting in understanding.
He smiled lightly, turning to the window to watch the scenery as the train began to slow.
Standing he cricked his neck from side to side, reaching up to grab his trunk with only slight trouble. He watched the taller boy make a motion as if to help him, which he stopped with a glare, pinning the boy in place.
Reaching into one of his remarkably deep pockets he pulled out a Knut, rolling it between knuckles as he thought quietly. Eventually the train came to a complete standstill, and he nodded, reaching out his hand to Ginny.
Exchanging a startled glance with Neville, she reached out her hand towards him, making as if to clasp it within her delicate fingers, hope flitting unwittingly over sullen features.
He snorted, dropping the Knut into her outstretched fingers, watching as it slipped through them and clattered on the floor.
"For your time" he murmured, smile faint and cruel on his face.
Then he strode out the door and never looked back.
He weaved his way between reuniting families, noticing absently that Ron and Hermione had finally given up the pretence of caring and hadn't bothered to stop him for a goodbye.
He was expecting his uncle, just beyond the boundary, muttering loudly about layabouts and freaks. The man was there, which was good.
His cousin wasn't, which was better.
Unbidden, something dark and gleeful uncurled in his gut. He wasn't sure yet if his biggest gamble was about to pay off, but he had a wicked feeling that it would.
Angry, he smothered his glee, already guilty enough over the games he was playing with his Cousin's life.
He made his way over to his uncle, side stepping the man's arms with an ease that felt all too natural.
He nodded to the man dressed in clogs and a sundress beside the car, making a mental note that the order had assigned guards again this summer.
He'd known they would, but looking at the man's ridiculous getup did not inspire confidence in him.
The car tipped as his uncle pulled himself into the driver's seat, eyeing him strangely for sitting in the front seat, but not saying a word.
His uncle had never seen him in proper clothing before. It had thrown him through a loop. Even his hair, though long, was braided back and tight to his head. He looked like a respectable, quite well-to-do young lad.
He reminded him strongly of the few friends Dudley had brought home from Smelting's, and it was confusing him enough to hold his tongue.
They drove in silence, with Harry making stray comments on politicians and the economic climate. Things his uncle enjoyed discussing with people not his Nephew.
The drive passed quickly enough, and before he knew it, they were pulling up the driveway.
His uncle sat for a moment, obviously struggling with something, before muttering something that sounded like "Ribifferdinar" and striding off, which he was pretty sure was Vernon telling him there would be Roast beef for dinner.
Did he just receive an actual invitation to eat with the Dursleys? He hadn't cooked for them since he'd started Hogwarts, after they'd become paranoid he'd spike their food with something.
He wouldn't have, not because it hadn't crossed his mind, but because he couldn't imagine his parents would have approved terribly if he killed his only remaining family.
Snorting, he turned to open the door, only to do a double take as it was opened for him.
There, standing awkwardly in front of him, Harry's trunk already neatly at his feet, was his cousin.
Slowly, deliberately, he let his eyes crawl up the boy, taking in his suede brown loaders and cream chinos. A dove grey, cotton tee was tucked into his pants, stretching impressively over a broad chest and wide shoulders that he'd honestly not expected.
His cousin was looking at his feet, teeth making ribbons of his lips as he chewed them anxiously. Soft blonde hair fell over his face, covering his eyes, and Harry was bidden with a need to have the boy look at him.
"Look at me" he whispered, voice humming with something expectant and altogether magical. "Look at me, cousin."
Slowly, Dudley raised his gaze to match eyes with his Cousin, and Harry was struck dumb at the sight.
Blue eyes burnt into him, yearning and anxious and hopeful all at once. Harry felt something like victory pierce his heart.
A smile split his face, teeth white and gleaming eyes alight with triumph.
He held out a delicate hand, laughing breathlessly as his cousin grasped it in his own trembling one, and couldn't help the sheer jubilation that shot through him at the sight before him.
There, forming slowly on his cousin's neck, was a silver collar.
Blue eyes still peering desperately into his own, Harry let his smile soften. He pulled his cousin closer to press a soft kiss to his forehead and heard the snickt as the magic did its work.
He let his cousin pull back, looking markedly calmer and more content than he'd ever seen him, and let himself enjoy the flair of possessiveness that burnt to life within him at the sight of his crest emblazoned on the chocker around Dudley's neck.
He'd done it.
His diligence had paid off.
Dudley was his.
Xxx'
On the morning of his birthday Harry woke up with a terrible feeling of foreboding.
Like always his cousin was awake before him, fresh faced and clean towel in hand, standing at the foot of his bed.
And hadn't that been a surprise? The first time he'd woken to his sloth of a cousin standing over him, he'd been so surprised he hadn't quite known what to do.
Dudley had smiled a shy little smile and handed over a well put together set of clothing before bustling him out the door to take a shower.
Eventually, after this had become a common occurrence, Harry decided not to change it. Something dark in him was pleased by his cousin's attentiveness. Well aware of what that dark little space in him could do if left to stew, he'd allowed himself to be waited on. He willed himself to feel guilt for his giddy pleasure at watching his cousin do his bidding, but couldn't manage a wisp. He ignored it, as he had since he was a child, pretending he was as good and light as he wished he was.
Strict ground rules had been set in place for when Dudley's parents were present, because it had become increasingly apparent that Dudley no longer cared what his parents thought of him at all.
The first time his father had shaken off the tentative truce that had sprung up between uncle and nephew and made to hit Harry, both men had been equally surprised to see Dudley leap between the two from nowhere, catching his father's arm in a punishing grip and squeezing.
"I'll tell the police." Dudley said, voice loud and angry. "I'll tell them everything! I will!"
"Dudley-"
"No!" Unholy rage stole over his features, "Don't touch him!"
Vernon looked at his boy in utterly flabbergasted shock before swinging back to glare at Harry furiously.
Dudley shuffled between them again, blocking off his father's line of sight.
The older man had flinched back, face more purple than red, and stormed away with one last peculiar glance in Harry's direction, teeth grinding.
Since then, Harry had made Dudley avoid him during the day, unwilling to take the chance of a repeated occurrence where his parents might click that something abnormal had taken place. He couldn't take the risk of the wizards finding out he'd invoked a Triad's Gambit.
Most nights before bed, Dudley would steal into his room, handling his cousin's delicate limbs like they were made of glass, cleaning and wrapping them as if his life depended on a job well done.
He'd sit him gently on the bed, handling him easily as a result of the brutish strength he'd developed from boxing and working out, and upbraid his hair reverently.
It was addictive, having a person so lovingly care for him. It changed a person.
One night, as his cousin ran a paddle brush through his thick ringlets in silence, he made the conscious decision to put the past to rest.
Turning, he'd gently stopped his cousin's brush strokes, watching as the boy stared at him curiously.
"Update me on your school year" he demanded softly. "Surely much has happened since your last letter."
Dudley had smiled a luminous smile, and Harry was treated to the last of his doubts washing away in light of the complete happiness that consumed his cousin's face at the request.
He'd started writing Dudley as a way to initiate the Gambit, feeding him dribs and drabs of his year as a way to build a connection. Dudley had responded with letters that only became more verbose and eager over time. He'd been aware his cousin had appreciated his correspondence. It had been only natural that after he'd opened the connection Dudley would start feeling the need to be useful to him- want to be near him.
He hadn't been entirely sure how it would play out. The accounts he'd managed to find varied greatly depending on how the debts were made and the strength of the two involved.
To be honest, he hadn't thought about Dudley much beyond how he'd use him.
When Harry had first stumbled on that tiny book on life debts, he'd started reading it for an entirely different reason.
He'd been interested in Ginny for a fair while. Obviously, Ron had noticed. Face set in great amusement, Ron had sat him down to have the 'talk'. Never mind the fact that Ginny had been dating Dean at the time.
"This is perfect" Ron had crowed.
He'd been treated to a ramble about family and best mates, little sisters and virtue. All things that had set Harry's face aflame and made him want to hunker down in the Chamber of Secrets until graduation.
He'd also been secretly appalled at Ron telling him to "go for it" despite Ginny being quite happy with Dean. He'd resigned himself to hoping the two had an amicable breakup so he could have his chance.
One thing that had stuck though, that Ron had said as if an afterthought (but thinking back, very clearly wasn't), was how Ginny's life debt would be repaid if they ever got married.
He'd thought on it for weeks before swooping into the restricted section one night, curious and a little worried.
He'd found a book that had opened his eyes to…everything. It had changed his life.
Not only did Ginny owe him a debt for saving her in the chamber, but so did Hermione for saving her from the troll. Bewilderingly enough it became apparent that Malfoy might owe him a life debt as well, for his not demanding death for his reneging on the duel in first year; apparently duels were a very big deal among wizards. He wondered if Malfoy knew. There were several chapters on this particular type of debt, but he was fairly sure he'd reached the correct conclusion.
What had stood out to him though, leaping out of the page with almost a sirens call, was a brief few paragraphs on the Triad's Gambit. His mind had flown to his muggle cousin, and before he could even blink, several things clicked into place that made him lose his breath in a giant whoosh of air.
He read the brief warnings, saw the possible rewards, and meandered over to the two other books given as a reference for life debts, specifically, ones that mentioned the Gambit.
Something was burning through his veins, urging him forward. He felt something come over him, and for the first time in his life, could feel another bond in his mind besides the Dark Lords.
It was barely a shell of a thing, but it was there. And it echoed with whispers that twined themselves into his thoughts with an ease that should have worried him, but didn't.
He'd spent the better part of his fifth year bleeding every reference he could find dry, before making the fateful decision to take the first step, something vaguely like power and revenge ghosting behind him. It had been no wonder he hadn't focused on Occlumency as he should have.
And then, sitting in his room at Privet Drive with the bond warm and Alive in his head, cousin gently brushing his hair, he made the choice to take proper responsibility with his gift.
But today was his birthday. He shook his head of its erratic thoughts, smiling slightly at Dudley as he took the offered towel.
He had a leisurely shower, scrubbing his skin with increasing vigour, trying to shake the unnerving feeling that was coming over him.
Dressing more conservatively than usual in a sharp black suit with polished heels and an attractive silver cane, he let his cousin braid his hair back, tying it off in a bow with silver ribbon halfway down his back.
His cousin was dressed similarly, only without the jacket, and with a crisp white shirt rather than Harry's own silky black. Obviously he had no cane, he had no wand to conceal.
He glimpsed the the Potter crest nestled in the crook of Dudley's neck, and nodded sharply.
"Time to go" he murmured, sighing softly.
Dudley placed a careful hand on his Harry's delicate shoulder. "It'll be alright Cousin. We'll make it."
Harry smiled sharply. "Once we get to Diagon we can afford to let our guard relax slightly. We're only in danger if they catch us before we manage to get there"
Harry was referring to the Order. He'd refused their offer to take him to the burrow a week before his birthday, and refused every other not so gentle order to do so.
He was quite sure there would be more than the usual single guard outside the house today. Now that he could use magic.
He'd been probing Voldemort's connection gently for the past couple of days and was satisfied Voldemort would leave him alone for the day. The man had a peculiar sense of honour he was glad for.
Dudley held his arm gently and led him down the stairs.
At the bottom, dressed in their Sunday best, were Petunia and Vernon. Vernon looked resigned, strangely thin and drawn without the bravado that usually filled him up. He looked at his son with something Harry couldn't decipher, before he had to fumble to catch something thrown at his head.
It was a pocket watch, silver with vines creeping over it lazily. On the back were his initials.
He looked at his uncle, who for the first time in his life wasn't looking at Harry with hate or anger. Instead, misery radiated from the man.
"Boy" he rasped. He cleared his throat "P-P- Harry.
I know you've done something to my boy. My Dudley. I know you've changed him. Don't!"
He glared at his son as he made to speak.
"…don't. I don't know what happened. But I am a man of my merits! I follow the Code!"
Inwardly, Harry wondered what the Dursley code was while keeping an eye on a rapidly paling Dudley from the corner of his eye.
He startled as his Uncle lumbered over and clasped his hands in his own, held stiffly as if the man was trying very hard not to crush them.
"You take good care of my boy Potter or I'll come after you with all the pain I can."
Harry hadn't even time to nod before his Uncle was lumbering away, deliberately turning his head away from his gasping son.
He'd barely blinked before Petunia was in front of them, hands cupping her son's cheeks reverently before she took a step away, holding her trembling hands tightly behind her.
"I'm pregnant," she stated baldly into the silence, watching the two of them blanch with strangely soft eyes. "Another boy."
Dudley was shaking. Harry set his cane to the floor before pulling the older boy into a hug, ignoring Petunia's intent stare. He reached up to stroke his cousins tear streaked face, making a note detachedly to ask what on earth was happening later when his cousin wasn't quite so vulnerable.
He rocked him back and forth gently, and something like relief bloomed on Petunia's face.
"You care for him" she whispered, voice thick with disbelief. "We had thought…but no. You'll be good to him."
With renewed vigour she looked them over, picking out Dudley's nice clothing and Harry's careful embrace with desperate eyes.
He could see her thinking deeply, before coming to some sort of realisation, wiping away tears as they ran down her face with one hand while the other splayed over her stomach.
"You be good to my boy Harry. Treat him better than we did. Make sure he becomes a good man."
She reached into her pocket, and took out a silver cuff, reaching out with careful fingers to lock it around her son's wrist. It was snug, but it fit, clicking into place with alarming finality.
Dudley was straightening up, running sheepish fingers over his face, deliberately not looking at the jewellery that gleamed at him as he moved.
"What" Harry began "on earth is happening?"
Petunia locked amused eyes with her son before smiling self-deprecatingly.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Ask my…ask Dudley later. He'll tell you everything."
She took a shuddering breath before fixing him with a fierce glare. "You've taken all you can take from me Harry. Look after him like I c-couldn't. Be good to h-h-him." She sniffled eyes welling up again. "I'm not sorry for how I treated you, and I won't forgive you for doing this, but I want you to know I will raise my next baby differently."
She reached up a trembling hand to smooth her son's blonde hair back, before her eyes shuttered, and she snatched her hand back as if burnt.
"Be a good boy Dudley" she breathed, and then she was gone, vanished into the living room like her Husband before her.
Dudley stood still for a moment, eyes closed, mouth twisted bitterly, before shoving the hand with the bracelet in his pocket.
He took a deep breath, and Harry watched as he came back to himself, smoothing Harry's suit down from where he'd crinkled it.
"Are you up to this" Harry asked sharply, putting the bizarre incident to the back of his mind. "This cannot be screwed up."
Dudley nodded, eyes intent, and together they walked to the door.
Harry tucked the watch into one of his inner pockets, and as he did, was overwhelmed with the feeling that whatever was happening, felt a little like fate.
Xxx
Surprisingly, they made it to Diagon with no incident.
The order had either decided against kidnapping an unwilling boy-who-lived, or had something else up their sleeve.
Harry was worriedly certain it was the later, and strode with determination towards the gleaming white building he could see at the end of the alley.
He and his cousin garnered looks. Their clothing was very fine and something a wizard might wear under robes, but no wizard had ever done so. Certainly wizards wore slacks and shirts, but they all fastened with ties and hooks- not buttons.
Paying careful attention to the busy streets and nosy people, Dudley kept close to his Cousin, glaring hatefully at anyone who –once they recognised the boy-who-lived- attempted to get closer.
Harry marched on without concern, feeling the bond flaring with anger and possessiveness behind him. He was safe from civilians.
They reached the bank doors, slowing a little so Dudley could read the warning etched above the door.
Dudley snorted, and Harry grinned viciously, only giving a token effort to stomp out his violent thoughts.
The lines weren't terribly long. Harry barely had time to glance around and register the Malfoy's distinctive blonde hair before it was his turn to step up to the register.
"Holding's analysis for Harry Potter."
"Key?" The creature asked.
Harry bit his thumb, smearing blood on the desk before it glowed violet and the blood vanished.
"Did you intend to recall your keys today, Mister Potter?" The goblin mocked, black eyes glittering down at him critically.
"Isn't that what I just did?" He asked, thin eyebrow arched derisively.
The Goblin, Silvertooth if the nameplate was accurate, merely smirked, gesturing with one crooked hand to another Goblin that stood a few metres away.
"Go with Hammersmith."
Harry nodded, walking away without another word. They followed the taller goblin through a series of tunnels to a deceptively plain wooden door, which swung open before they got there.
"I'll be here to guide you back" Hammersmith stated, ignoring them to stare at the stone wall near the entrance. Dudley let out a nervous giggle, and Harry rolled his eyes.
Inside was as welcoming as he'd expected an office made of stone to be. On the ceiling was a collection of large red crystals which provided the only source of light in the room. Apart from that, he noticed that the furniture appeared to be moulded from the rock itself and wondered how on earth things were archived. Did the desk have draws? Could it?
The goblin behind the desk watched him with intelligent eyes, cataloguing everything about his client as swiftly as he could while the wizard did the same.
Harry sat uninvited, and had Dudley sit at his feet when the accounts manager did not offer up another seat. Harry couldn't use a wand in the bank, but he could still play the game.
"Rumours of the great Chosen One must be highly exaggerated if he allows his muggle cousin to sit at his feet rather than ask for aid."
Harry smiled, sharklike.
"Indeed? Rumours of the Goblins' Sight must be falsehoods then, if even a Great Keeper of Ancient Accounts cannot see that this is not family, but slave."
He reached down and flicked his cousin's neck, watching the Goblin's face as the collar flickered into being for a few seconds before fading. He ran his fingers through his cousin's fine hair, glad he'd talked him through the likelihood of this happening earlier in the week.
The Goblin paled to sickly shade of green, eyes still riveted on his cousin's neck, before sighing.
"Greatly exaggerated indeed" he muttered, before shuffling through the papers on his desk, pulling some out, and reaching under the desk to retrieve some different ones, which he placed on the pile.
He raised one long fingered hand to rub carefully at his temples, not looking forward to informing the young man in front of him about the state of his accounts.
He'd been expecting a young man like his father, full of guff and hot air, easy to turn around. Looking into the wizard's cold eyes, and the horribly blank gaze of his (Ka'ba preserve him!) slave, he was worried.
"Mr Potter." He held out a stack of papers. "Your holdings."
Harry took them with both hands, and skimmed through them with the practised ease of a student.
His fingers flipped the pages swiftly, slowing as each page was read, until eventually he was holding the last page with white knuckles.
The room had plunged in temperature, the soft red glow of light flickering ominously.
Both Goblin and muggle felt a terrible wave of foreboding crash through them, and each cringed when the young Potter's head snapped up eyes black and sizzling with wrath.
"What" Harry breathed, voice faint and so very, very angry "Is this?"
Xxx
Excerpt from 'Life debts and what to do with them' 3rd edition, by Martin Schuffer, published 1987.
"…nothing more frightening to a wizard or witch as the idea of a Triad's Gambit. Of course, aside from a couple of unauthenticated stories that say otherwise, achieving the Gambit might as well be impossible. The idea that a person can save the life of another person three times, with nothing but goodwill in his heart, is a fairy-tale.
Indeed, although singular life debts are not too uncommon, the incurrence of a second debt is enough to force any person to take action. I have not known a single person with two debts over their head to stay in the same vicinity let alone country as the person they owe them to, for fear of reaching lucky number three.
While one or two debts are not enough to do more than cause the unlucky witch or wizard to never act against the debt holder in malice, lest they be subject to increasing periods of bad luck and eventual death, three debts herald the formation of a Servus debt, which has potentially disastrous consequences.
If not acknowledged properly, or not acknowledged at all the Servus will die. All holdings and property under their name will become property of the bond holder. Muggles need not worry about this consequence, as by some blessing of magic, it does not affect them.
The Triad's Gambit however affects all living creatures (muggles included), and offers a potential counter to the likelihood of death. If the bond holder, who has otherwise shown nothing but goodness in his previous actions, can manage to get the Servus to acknowledge both debt and position of power over them, the Servus will not die.
There are two problems with this that curdle the blood.
Firstly, the wizard who had so shown himself to be noble, must make the proposal with malice in his heart.
Secondly, the Servus is saved from death, but at the cost of their own essence.
They become, in every conceivable manner, a slave."