Chapter Eight: Dummy

Tulse Hill, London
14th December 2009, 3.27pm

"I like it," Pansy said, dumping the bag of clothes that she had filched from Daphne onto the polished wooden floorboards of Dudley's narrow hallway. "Very quaint."

Quaint? Dudley mouthed, clearly unused to hearing his four-bed Victorian terraced house described this way. Harry shrugged, trying as hard as he could not to show just how much he was enjoying himself.

He and Dudley might be on far better terms now than they had been as children, but there was still a unique pleasure in imagining the torture that his cousin was likely to be subjected to over the next few days.

"Curious how they don't move," Pansy said, narrowing her eyes and squinting at one of the small photographs of Dudley and Petunia that hung on the blue-painted wall. This particular one was from Dudley's eleventh birthday, Harry realised. He'd almost forgotten how much his cousin had resembled a pig.

"Don't look at that," Dudley said, his voice somewhere between exasperation and horror. "That's -"

"I'd say you've improved with age," Pansy remarked, before stepping through the open doorway that led to the living room.

Dudley threw Harry a look of desperation. "How long did you say she'd need to stay here?"

"I dunno," Harry said, following Pansy through into the living room. "How long do you reckon it'll take for us to find a bank-robbing murderous nutjob?" He looked around, admiring the fresh paint on the walls. "Did you redecorate?"

"I had a week's leave last month," Dudley sighed, coming in to join them. "I haven't had a chance to do much to the place since I moved in so I thought -"

"Is this not where you grew up?" Pansy asked, turning to look at them both.

Dudley's hand rose to rub the back of his neck self-consciously. "No, I sold that place after Mum died." His eyes flicked to Harry. "Too many memories."

"Hmm," Pansy nodded. "Well, I guess I can stay here for the time being."

"You will stay here for the time being," Harry corrected her. "There's no 'I guess' about it."

"Authoritative," Pansy smiled. "I'm almost glad I didn't hand you over to the Dark Lord."

"Gosh, Parkinson," Harry pursed his lips. "What a heartwarming sentiment."

"When would she have handed you over to - who's the Dark Lord?" Dudley asked, looking worriedly between the pair of them.

"I'll let you answer that one," Harry glared at Pansy. "I guess the two of you will need something to talk about over the next few days." He glanced at Dudley, who was looking increasingly despairing. "I'm going to check with Ron and Dean that they're not having too much trouble with the wards, and then I need to get home to Grimmauld."

"Right," Dudley nodded. "Actually, could you come with me a sec? There was something I wanted to give you."

"What about me?" Pansy asked. She had already kicked off her shoes and curled up on Dudley's linen-coloured sofa, looking very much like an overgrown, extremely dangerous cat.

Dudley paused in the doorway for a moment, his eyes sliding briefly to Harry's before they returned to his unwelcome houseguest. "Why don't you stay here, make no noise, and pretend you don't exist?"

Caught unawares, Harry gave a splutter of surprised laughter, and a smile touched the edges of Dudley's mouth before he jerked his head towards the hallway. "With me, Potter."

Harry had a last glimpse of Pansy sat on the sofa looking thoughtful, before he followed Dudley up the stairs.

"I meant to ask you," he said, as they rounded the turn, and he caught a glimpse of a garden that looked much more under control than his own, "did you find out what happened to that PC?"

"No," Dudley shook his head. "She seems to have vanished off the face of the earth. Still want me to get a photo sent over?" he asked, opening the door to what turned out to be his study.

"If you wouldn't mind," Harry nodded, then paused, looking around. "It's nice in here."

The room was furnished with an industrial-looking desk and some bookshelves stacked with fileboxes and reference books, as well as a few potted plants. There was another photo of Petunia on display on the desk, and on one of the shelves, in a neat silver frame, was one of Harry and Dudley that appeared to have been taken at a crime scene a couple of years before. Harry felt his eyebrows rise as he picked this one up, noting the way he and Dudley had bent their heads together conspiratorially. If the photo had been moving, he wouldn't have been surprised to see them smile.

"Oh," Dudley said, nodding. "Sahra took that. Said we looked thick as thieves."

"She's not wrong." Harry replaced the photo, and looked around again. There were no pictures of Vernon, and he knew better than to say anything.

"Yeah, I liked it." Dudley's eyes made a quick survey of the room before he returned his attention to his desk, and the drawer he was now rummaging inside. "I spend most of my time here when I'm home so I wanted it to be -"

"Peaceful," Harry mused, then started when he realised he'd interrupted. "Sorry."

"Nah, you're alright," Dudley said, straightening up with something in his hands. His expression had turned shifty, and Harry was suddenly worried about what might be in the small package that Dudley now held out to him.

"Little early for Christmas presents, isn't it?" he asked lightly, and Dudley shifted awkwardly.

"It's not a Christmas present," he said. Harry watched as he clenched and unclenched the fingers of his free hand, wondering what on earth Dudley had given him.

"Then what is it?" he asked.

"Just open it," Dudley sighed. "It would be easier to explain if you just -"

"Oh," Harry said, having drawn out the stack of photographs. In the one on top, two small girls grinned madly, frozen in time with their arms around one another. Even though the photo was old and faded, it was clear that the smaller of the two had dark red hair and startlingly green eyes.

Harry flicked to the next photograph, where the same two girls now sat at a table, each with a mixing bowl and wooden spoon. He looked first at the blonde girl, clearly slightly older, who was wearing a mischievous smile as she licked cake mix from her spoon, and then his eyes were drawn inexorably to the other girl, who had been caught mid-giggle. If you looked closely, it was possible to discern that her spoon was floating in the air, her hand open just below the handle.

"Dudley, I -" he looked up, only realising when his cousin seemed to swim in front of him that his eyes had filled with tears. "Where did you -"

"When I had my leave," Dudley said, voice gruff. "I cleared out some of Mum's old stuff that I hadn't - I couldn't before. They were just in a box and I thought you - I know you don't -"

"Yeah," Harry nodded. The next photo showed Petunia shrieking with laughter as Lily threw snowballs at her. They couldn't have been more than seven and nine years old.

The only time he'd ever seen Lily as a child had been when he'd looked at Snape's memories in the Pensieve. He'd never had a photo of her this young, and in many ways it had almost seemed as though her life hadn't begun until she'd gone to Hogwarts. He felt a hot tightness in his throat, and pushed his glasses up to swipe at his eyes.

"Thanks, Dudley," he said, and then on an impulse he reached forward and wrapped his cousin in a quick, tight hug.

"Don't mention it," Dudley muttered, patting Harry's shoulder awkwardly. "It's really not -"

"It really is," Harry said, stepping back.

They both spent a moment shuffling uncomfortably, and then Harry had a thought. "Hey. What are you doing for Christmas?"

oOo

No. 12 Grimmauld Place
14th December 2009, 4.14pm

Harry apparated back to Grimmauld still half-dazed by the packet of photos he had tucked into the inside pocket of his coat.

He was desperate to talk to Hermione: not only because she knew how it was to live without parents, but also because really, whenever anything happened to him, Harry was always desperate to talk to Hermione.

Rushing through the front door, he pulled the packet from his pocket and tossed his coat in the direction of the hatstand, barely noticing Kreacher as he apparated into the hall and only catching the tail end of the elf's croaked words.

"- are in the upstairs drawing room taking tea. Is Master wanting -"

"Sorry Kreacher," Harry said, skidding to a halt and peering over the bannisters. "Who's in the upstairs drawing room?"

"The Mudblood One and Master Nott." Kreacher blinked owlishly. "Will Master be wanting another pot of tea bringing up?"

"Another…" Harry repeated, feeling his bright mood deflating rapidly. "How long have they been up there?"

"All afternoon, Master," Kreacher said. At the look on Harry's face he started to wring his hands. "Master did say that Kreacher was to treat the Mudblood One as though she was -"

"I know what I said," Harry snapped, then sighed deeply. "Sorry Kreacher, it's not you I'm angry with. Send up that tea, would you?"

He climbed the stairs slowly towards the second floor, and soon he heard muffled voices, then Hermione's laughter. For some reason the sound made Harry scowl, but he did his best to wipe the expression from his face before opening the door.

The first thing he saw was Theo sitting in his favourite wingback armchair, one leg crossed over the other so that his trousers pulled up to reveal his ankle in all its emerald-socked glory. He was laughing at something that Hermione had clearly just said, and when he caught sight of Harry he turned his smile towards him.

"Granger here was just telling me about her unfortunate first attempt at a Polyjuice Potion," he said, and Hermione looked towards Harry from where she was perched on the sofa, grinning brightly.

"Do you remember?" she said. "I had whiskers for a whole -"

"Of course I remember," Harry nodded, cutting her off. "You two having a nice afternoon?"

Hermione bridled slightly at Harry's abrupt tone, and Theo's eyes narrowed into a look of close scrutiny. "I brought over a few of my grandfather's diaries for Granger to look through. You might have heard of him," he said lightly, leaning forward to pick up his cup. "Cantankerus Nott?"

Harry noticed distantly that the Thestrals on Theo's teacup were flapping their wings delightedly, and felt even more sour. "Didn't he compile the Pure-Blood Directory?"

"My my, Potter," Theo smiled. "You really aren't as stupid as you look, are you? I thought there might be something in there that would prove useful."

"Kind of you," Harry said, in a tone that he knew implied anything but gratitude. From her position on the sofa Hermione frowned at him, but Harry ignored the look. "Don't mind me," he bit out. "If I'm interrupting something I'm quite happy to -"

"Not at all," Theo said smoothly, replacing his cup and standing in one fluid, practiced movement. "Actually I should probably be going."

"Wait," Hermione said, half-rising. "Harry didn't mean -"

"Oh, I know exactly what he meant," Theo said. "But I really do need to be off." He looked at Harry. "Would you mind seeing me out?"

"Me?" Harry asked, baffled. "You mean Hermione."

"No, Potter," Theo gave him a smile that managed to be at once charming and incredibly sinister. "I was hoping to have a word with you." He nodded to Hermione. "It's been a pleasure, Granger. Do let me know if you have more anecdotes to share."

"Yeah," Hermione said absently. She looked just as confused as Harry felt. "See you, I guess?"

Theo gave her what Harry had to assume was an ironic salute, before gesturing to the door behind Harry. "Shall we?"

"Right," Harry said, standing to the side to let him past. He threw a look towards Hermione, who shrugged, then flapped a hand to encourage him to follow Theo. The other wizard was taking the stairs two at a time, and Harry had to almost run to keep up with him. "I thought you said you wanted -"

"Yes I did, didn't I?" Theo said, turning on his heel as he reached the hallway. He snapped his fingers, and to Harry's intense annoyance Kreacher appeared, carrying Theo's travelling cloak.

"Is there anything else Kreacher can -"

"No," Harry said flatly, and Kreacher gave him a dirty look before disapparating once more.

"Touchy today, aren't you?" Theo remarked, and Harry glared at him.

"Did you want to make observations about my mood," he growled, "or did you actually have something you needed to talk to me about?"

Theo gave him a long, level look. "You're terribly handsome when you're angry, Potter," he said, as he looped his cloak around his shoulders. "Positively distracting."

"I'm -" Harry blinked. "What?"

Theo's lips pressed together as he considered him. "You know that thing I said about you not being as stupid as you look?"

"What about it?" Harry snapped.

"I was wrong," Theo sighed, as he opened the door and stepped out to the street. "You're even stupider."

A/N: I hope it is clear that I adore Theo.