''Dudley, darling, what have you been doing?'' Petunia asked, glancing down at the scratches on his arms, concerned.
''Nothing Mum.'' Dudley rolled down the sleeves on his jumper quickly.
It had been a week since they had shifted back to Privet Drive – Diggle looked quite relived to be rid of Vernon Dursley.
Hestia Jones had patted his shoulder and said she was proud of him, and Dudley secretly suspected it had a great deal to do with his newfound interest in Harry, and not his boxing achievements, as Dad kept reminding people.
''Point your sticks all you want, but Dudders here is an excellent boxer – I'd like to see any one of you puny freaks take him on!'' He'd say to Diggle whenever he had the chance.
Personally, Dudley thought this was the ultimate proof of how little his father knew about wizards – a muggle had no chance of ever overpowering a properly trained wizard. He sometimes thought back to the time Harry blew up Aunt Marge and marveled at Harry's self-control – really, inflating her a bit was the least you could do for someone who kept accusing your parents.
Dudley trudged back to the little park right beyond Magnolia Crescent, and resumed his mission.
He approached the raven sitting on the see-saw cautiously, not wanting to upset it.
Here goes nothing.
''Hello.'' Dudley said, feeling incredibly stupid.
I have to try, at least.
''Err, I was wondering if you could take a letter…?''
He trailed off, as the bird cocked its head and blinked at him. It spread its wings and promptly took off, wasting no time.
Right.
Dudley sighed, sitting down on a worn red bench.
Maybe if he whistled for Harry's owl – he had one, didn't he? Did owls respond to whistles?
''Darn it.'' He swore. He didn't even know the name of Harry's white owl.
He scanned around the park – there was a sparrow flitting around, but he had never seen a sparrow carry letters. It was too small. Finally, he spotted a pigeon. He got up and dusted his trousers.
He approached the bird slowly – he had learned if you get too close, they will scratch you, irrespective of your size or intentions.
''Right, I know you deliver letters – you are a pigeon.''
The bird looked at him disdainfully, and ran its beak through the grayish feathers.
''Come on now, I'll give you a bit of toast, if you want – now I don't know the address, mind you – ''
''Dudley?''
Dudley froze. He could only imagine what it looked like, a grown-ass boy crouching infront of a pigeon and talking to it.
Could he pretend he was doing a skit for the local fest?
He turned around slowly, and tripped over his shoe laces. As he wobbled around trying to gain his balance, he realized he knew the person.
''Mrs. Figg! I didn't realize – I was, err, that is to say – drama club, you know?'' He gave a weak smile, desperately trying to sell his story.
The batty old lady narrowed her eyes shrewdly. ''Pigeons don't deliver letters all that well, you know. Fickle minded, they are.''
Dudley gulped. Crap. She heard me.
''No no – I was simply – ''
''Trying to contact Harry, are you?'' She demanded, stepping right up and shaking her purse at him.
Dudley did a double-take. He gaped at her – did she know? But how could she- everyone at Privet Drive knew Harry was a delinquent who had run off last year!
''Shut your mouth, boy – are you a goldfish?'' She snapped.
''How do you – are you a – a –''
''Witch? No.'' Mrs. Figg shook her head.
Dudley gasped, taking a step back. Mum would go absolutely bonkers if she heard old Mrs. Figg talking about witches and Harry and pigeons.
Mrs. Figg eyed him again. ''What do you want to send a letter for?''
Dudley decided to just go with the flow – he'd freak out later.
''We haven't heard from him since after the war – I was wondering, maybe – ''
''Oh, he's alive. If anything happened to Harry potter that would make the front page of Prophet.''
Dudley decided to try his luck.
''Do you, err, have an owl, perhaps?''
''I don't, but you could get one at Diagon Alley. Of course, you couldn't.''
''Then how do I send a letter?''
Mrs. Figg thought for a while, sizing him up.
''Come along then.''
Dudley had expected her to produce a wand and do something magical, but she simply pinched a bit of sparkly powder in her hand and threw it into the grubby fireplace.
''The Burrow!'' She spoke, enunciating every letter very properly.
Dudley yelled and scarpered back as green flames lit up out of nowhere, and yelled again when a boy's face popped into the fire. Dudley couldn't figure out what was more horrifying – the long gashes in his scarred face or the fact that his head was literally in the fire, green flames licking his face.
''Hello, old Figgy – always a pleasure to see you!''
''You stop sweet- talking, boy – I won't forget that engorging charm you put on my cat's tail!'' Mrs. Figg shook her fist at the boy's flaming head as he laughed.
''Now, listen here, Bill – is Harry over at yours?''
''Yes – he arrived a week ago – quite a dramatic entry at mid-night, I must say. He's helping George to charm Percy's glasses – they think they're being very discreet, but Percy already knows why his glasses keep fogging up – he's livid.''
Dudley had no idea why Harry was trying to charm glasses – were they very pretty glasses? He cleared his throat quietly, and Mrs. Figg glanced over.
''Would you tell Harry to pop his head in for a minute? Someone wants to talk to him.''
The boy nodded, and called over his shoulders. ''Oi, Potter – you have a guest.''
His head vanished, only to be replaced by Harry's laughing face.
''I don't quite fancy entertaining a guest, Bill – Skeeter's article had been very scathing.''
There was laughter in the background, and Harry finally spotted Dudley standing awkwardly – he didn't want to get too close to the fire, so he sort of leaned away but kept his head straight, making him look like a prying flamingo.
''Dudley?!''
''Err…hi.''
Harry gaped at him, and Dudley wobbled a bit- his knees were starting to hurt from all that leaning.
''Well, don't just stare – floo powder isn't cheap, you know!''- Mrs. Figg chastised the boys, throwing in another pinch to keep the fire going.
''I…well, I'd come over but I'm in the middle of something…..'' Harry muttered, glancing over his shoulder.
''Who is it, Harry, dear? They can just come over here, can't they?'' Dudley heard a woman say from somewhere within the fireplace.
Mrs. Figg nodded. '' Right. In you go, then.''
''In? What d'you mean, in? No way I'm getting inside that bleeding fireplace – ''
''Oh quit blabbering – '' There was a great shove, and Dudley found himself falling into the green flames with a yelp.
So this is how I die. Burned in old Mrs. Figg's barmy fireplace.
There was a tingling sensation, and a great deal of whirling around, but the anticipated pain did not come – it was all over in a second, and Dudley found himself gasping and coughing on the carpet, and several pairs of hands hoisted him up.
Harry stood infront of him, pushing his glasses up his nose. He looked very surprised, as if he had no idea why on earth Dudley would be here.
''Aren't you the cousin?'' a red haired boy muttered darkly, glancing at him.
Dudley knew who that was- he'd seen enough pictures in the Daily Prophet.
''Ron Weasley?''
Ron went very stiff, and kept glaring at him with distaste.
The boy with a scarred face, Bill, looked at him appraisingly. ''You're a muggle? Didn't know muggles could use the floo.''
Harry nodded, as if deciding something. ''Right, come on then, we can sit by the garden and …err…talk?''
Dudley nodded, relieved. He could see the five people in the room scrutinizing him – Ron Weasley clearly didn't trust him at all.
''Want me to tag along, mate?'' He asked Harry, not taking his eyes off Dudley.
''Nah, I'm good.'' Harry nodded reassuringly.
Dudley realized this family was serious about Harry – he had a feeling that any signs of hostility and he'd probably be turned into a fruit bat.
He followed Harry out into a garden that looked nothing like their garden back home – flowerbeds were wild, filled with every sort of bushes and weeds creeping along, there was a small, very green pond filled with frogs in the center and tiny fishes swam around.
''Those frogs aren't people, are they?'' Dudley asked, voice shaking slightly, as he pointed to the frogs hopping around.
Harry gave a weak laugh. ''Merlin, where did you get that idea? Of course not, those frogs are frogs.''
''Right. I am sorry for barging in like this, I just – I had to give you a letter.'' Dudley said, fidgeting with a loose thread on his jumper.
''A letter?''
''Well, I wrote one, y'know – meant to ask Hestia Jones to pass it on but it just all happened very fast and they were gone and I realized I had no way of contacting you – don't you have a telephone? ''
Harry still looked very surprised. ''Why would you want to contact me, Dudley?''
''Well, we didn't exactly part on great terms – and it's quite stupid really, but I don't exactly hate you, and I realized you were too thick to understand that I am actually quite grateful for that demented thing, and it made me realize how fortunate it was that you were a wizard – ''
Dudley paused, unaccustomed to speaking such lengthy lines.
Harry grimaced. ''Wizard, is it now? Not a freak?''
Dudley flushed a deep red. ''Mum said so – besides, it is a little freaky – but I …I am sorry.''
Harry had absolutely no idea how to deal with this. Stupid Dudley? Sure – be sarcastic. Violent Dudley? – run. Mean Dudley? – snap back.
Apologetic Dudley? That was new.
''Wow. Okay. You…came here to apologize?''
''I don't know why I'm here, okay? Of course – I was sorry – but recently I have been feeling like – things should have had been so much better, Harry!''
''Better how?'' Harry asked, eyebrows shooting up.
''I …dunno. Guess I wanted to help somehow – the war has been pretty bad, I suppose.''
Harry was stymied. They strolled around the garden for a while – he could see Ron and Hermione leaning out from the first floor window – it was George's room, he thought.
Dudley fidgeted with the loose thread again, not sure what to say. Harry decided the silence had gone on long enough, and decided to veer towards a safe topic.
''So, what are you up to now?''
''Well, I applied to a few colleges here and there – waiting for them to reply back, you know.''
''Right. You going into the drill business later?''
Dudley gave a snort. ''Not a chance. I was thinking more like a bakery course.''
Harry stopped short, staring at his cousin.
''Bakery?''
Dudley nodded, nervous.
''And Uncle Vernon is okay with that?''
''Haven't told Dad yet. He thinks I'm applying for mechanical engineering.''
''Blimey, Dudley, what's gotten into you?''
''Feeling a bit rebellious, I reckon.''
Harry snickered, imagining Uncle Vernon's reaction to his boxing-champion-Dudders becoming a baker.
''So what are you up to?'' Dudley asked, relieved Harry didn't bully him about wanting to be a baker.
Then again, Harry never was a bully.
''Oh…I will probably join the Auror Training Program around September.''
Harry opened his mouth to explain what an Auror was, but Dudley beat him to it.
''Yes, I'd imagine you'd make a good Auror, what with all that You-Know-Who business.''
Harry stopped again, looking at his cousin. ''You're full of surprises today, you know? ''
Dudley flushed again. ''I'd been talking to Diggle and Jones quite a bit.''
Harry shook his head, astonished at this impossible turn of events.
''Boys, come on in – lunch is ready.''
Dudley looked around – was it noon already?
As the boys hurried back in, Dudley looked around for the fireplace.
''Right, it's been great catching up with you, I must get going now- ''
And he rushed headlong into the empty grate.
''Dudley, what are you – '' Harry winced as Dudley thumped his head in the brick wall, and yelped loudly.
The Weasleys stopped and looked around, Ron and Bill already howling with laughter.
''Bit thick, isn't he?'' Charlie muttered, striding around the table, intending to help the blonde boy.
There was a crash and yell, and much confusion as the grate flared up in green flames, and Percy floo-ed in right on top of Dudley, who had been trying to crawl out.
''Oof!'' Percy grunted, trying to disentangle his robes and holding on to his briefcase at the same time.
Charlie and Harry reached in and gripped Dudley from either side, finally dragging him out, as Percy floundered about with all the grace of a bowtruckle.
George massaged his temples, annoyed to bits – there was never a moment of peace in this darned house. Mrs. Weasley rubbed a bit of herbal salve on the rapidly increasing lump on Dudley's forehead, as Harry explained how floos work amidst fits of laughter.
Ron whispered - ''Serves him right, that git – used to bully Harry to no ends, wonder what's he here for- ''
''Ron! It looked like they had a great conversation in the garden – maybe he's realized how badly they treated Harry, now that he's all grown up – '' Hermione protested.
But George suddenly had a flashback, hearing Ron.
It was the third year, the year the Quidditch cup was held. Fred had been immensely satisfied with the effect the ton-tongue toffee had on Dudley, and he and George dissolved into fits of laughter once they reached their room, having acted sorry infront of their father.
''I'll still say, George, the Blabbering Beans would have had been a better choice-''
''We still don't know how to stop it – he'd be blabbering forever – ''
''My point exactly!''
''Say what – we can slip it in next time, after we have perfected the counter-charm – ''
They had, indeed, perfected the counter-charm – all you had to do was chew a bit of licorice laced with plimpy wing extract – but Fred wasn't here.
Fred wasn't here. George felt like the hole in his heart had widened.
''You must stay for lunch, Dudley. '' Mrs. Weasley was insisting, but she kept glancing over at Harry, as if to make sure he was okay with it.
Harry, miraculously, didn't seem too bothered about it. He shrugged, and seated himself next to Ron, who seemed to be enjoying himself a great deal at Dudley's unfortunate incident with the floo.
Dudley stared, mouth wide open, as Mrs. Weasley and Fleur levitated the dishes one by one onto the table. He even swiped his hands under the plate of mince pies to make sure there was no monkey-business going on – even after Harry assured him it was all magic.
Charlie was more worried about George – for the first time since what felt like years, George had a wicked glint in his eyes. He had excused himself from the table and slipped upstairs, and returned seconds later with seemingly empty hands. He had even offered to serve Dudley the onion soup – Mum had been so happy that he was interacting with others that she didn't bother to check further, but Ginny and Percy's eyes had narrowed very suspiciously.
Ginny was sharp – she rarely missed a thing, and Percy, so often on the receiving end of the twins' pranks, had learned to become suspicious very quickly whenever they were being nice.
George sat down beside Charlie, a very evil grin on his face as he served himself copious amounts of gravy.
''Why, Charlie, aren't you eating?'' He asked, with a flair of his old annoying sing-song voice.
''George. What are you plan-''
''Harry, this soupy dippity dip cuckoo!''
Harry choked on his pie, and Hermione dropped her spoon into the soup with a splash.
''Err, Dudley? What was that?'' Arthur asked, brow furrowed up.
Ron was violently trying to control his laughter, and was steadily turning a purple shade.
Dudley looked almost comically surprised.
''Why no wheedle sensible poppet?''
Charlie groaned. ''George! What did you do to him?''
George grinned, as Ron finally lost it. Harry was still choking, either out of laughter or shock, and Ginny was grinning at George.
''No, it's oats, prefects are fiddle – oh for Garage Soap!'' Dudley threw his hands up in air, exasperated.
Mum started yelling at George, as Arthur looked extremely concerned and tried to calm Dudley down. Harry gave George a thumbs up and ducked under the table to retrieve his spoon, and banged his head on the table on his way up.
''George – fix this!''
''Ah, I can, but I need a little plimpy wing extract – it's been days since we've visited the shop, I don't have any left now- ''
''So Howard legs spooky tumble?'' Dudley asked, flushing as he realised he wasn't making any sense.
''Blimey, George – are those the blabbering beans Fred had been talking about?'' Ron asked, gasping for air.
George nodded, and suddenly realised that talking about Fred didn't leave him feeling like someone had gutted him.
It felt almost as if the wounds had scabbed over – it hurt, but not as much as it once had.
Perhaps because he knew Fred would heartily approve of this prank.
And so George relaxed into his seat – Mum had stopped yelling at him and was frantically raiding her potions cabinet for a bit of plimpy wings extract, and Dudley kept blabbering nonsense as people sniggered. Percy sat with a disapproving frown as always, telling anyone who'd listen about jokes going too far, and Harry kept alternating between mild concern and roaring with laughter as Dudley pointed to his head and said 'mental daggers not tripping' .
That old feeling that Fred called 'post-prank euphoria' was returning.