A\N: Getting massively out of season now, but whatever.

Dudley had a perfectly ordinary Christmas. He was back home from Smeltings, after the longest separation from his parents he had ever experienced. The elder Dursleys, as expected, had gone out of their way to welcome him back.

He had been informed upon arrival that his cousin had opted to remain at his school for freaks. Since then, Harry's name had not been mentioned, even though this was the first time Dudley could remember that the other boy was absent from their home.

They had all alluded to it, of course. His parents had made several comments about being among themselves, being just the three of them, and so on. Dudley agreed that was all very nice. Yet, it felt strange, knowing that Harry was not stuck in the cupboard – away from their eyes, and yet present – but instead spending his holidays away at a secret school for wizards and witches.

Even after months of knowing about it, it boggled Dudley's mind that magic was real, and that his weird, scrawny, bespectacled cousin, of all people, had it.

Dudley tried to put all thoughts about Harry and magic out of his mind. It was not difficult at all. There was something particularly non-magical about his parents, and his Aunt Marge, who had arrived a couple days before Christmas, and would remain with them until the new year.

Dudley was playing his favourite alien invasion computer game when his mother called from downstairs that dinner had been served. He sighed, and got up somewhat reluctantly, unsure whether he really wanted to leave the game for his parents' company. Soon enough, though, the anticipation of the festive dinner became overwhelming, and he headed downstairs.

Aunt Marge met Dudley at the staircase, leaning heavily on the banister. As soon as he reached her, her hand landed heavily on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. Dudley visibly sagged as she took a step, and put more of her weight on him.

"A bit shrunk all around, are we?" she wheezed. "Aren't they feeding you properly at school?"

"You'd think they were," he grunted back. "They keep telling me I'm gaining weight."

Even with the ten-pound-note she slipped into his hand once they reached the ground floor, Dudley could not help but t hink fondly of all the times his cousin had had to help Aunt Marge instead of him. This was the first visit from her he could remember when Harry was not present, and it made him realise that he mostly liked his aunt around when he could watch her abuse his cousin.

Petunia, Dudley's mum, was flitting around the dining room, making some last-minute alterations to what already looked like a very richly filled, very orderly dinner table. She herself, had put on her favourite pearls, and on the whole, there was not a hair out of place. She directed them all to their seats.

"No, no. You sit right here, Duddykins, next to me."

Dudley did as he was told. A moment later, his mother had to lightly slap his hand away when he tried to start eating right away.

"What a funny boy you are, pretending you don't have table manners," Mum said with a laugh.

Dudley barely refrained himself from telling her he was not trying to be funny, and that he wanted to eat now. But though his mouth watered at seeing all the fancy dishes, he again did as he was told. His mother shot him a surprised look, but then went back to ingratiation herself with her sister-in-law.

Dudley did not miss the look, and knew very well what had caused it. The time away at school had changed him, and even he himself had noticed it. He was not the richest kid at Smeltings any more, he no longer had Harry around to copy homework from, and even without all that, he was under his teachers' care at school, who were a lot less of his outbursts than his parents.

"Let him eat, Petunia, he's a growing boy." Dad came to Dudley's defence, while loading his own plate.

"He needs to eat well, so he'll turn into a proper sized man, like his father," agreed Aunt Marge, who was eager to start eating herself, rather than listen to the newest gossip from the neighbourhood narrated by Petunia.

It did not take long with the combined efforts of father, son, and aunt to clear most of the table.

"Excellent nosh, Petunia, one of your best." Aunt Marge sighed with satisfaction after she had finished off her third helping of the turkey. She chased it down with a freshly refilled glass of wine.

Dudley looked up in surprise hearing that. The food was fine, and it looked perfect, certainly. But to him, at least, it tasted blander than usual. He shrugged and went back to eating. No one could accuse Dudley of being a picky eater. If it had enough fat or sugar, he would like it all right. Even Smeltings' less than satisfactory meals always found space in his stomach.

"That's right, Petunia," said Dad a little louder than strictly necessary, his face flushed from the wine he had already imbibed. "Just how I like it. No shirking the fat, or – or any of that healthy stuff. And no trying to change the flavour – never knowing what you'll end up with."

"Just so, Vernon," tittered Mum. "No experiments." Her face turned sour at the last word, the way it only did when mentioning anything related to her nephew.

Dudley suddenly caught up to what they were talking about. Watching the stove, and otherwise helping his mother in the kitchen, was part of Harry's chores. Experimenting with their food, was he? Dudley's indignation joined that of his parents', ignoring the traitorous part of his mind that told him this explained why the dinner tasted bland.

"Must be the lack of stress," said Aunt Marge. "You can take your time to do it right when you don't have that hooligan-in-the-making to watch over."

Dudley did not miss how his parents' expressions grew strained at the merest mention of their nephew.

Aunt Marge seemed to have missed that, though. "Where is that boy, anyway?"

"I told you, Marge. He's staying at his school," said Dad, eager to get away from the topic.

"Yes, you did. But what sort of kid wants to stay at school? There's something odd about that boy, Vernon, I've always said so-"

"He's not staying voluntarily, Marge," Dad said loudly.

His wife, who had been pushing food around on her plate, pretending to eat, halted at that, but did not look up.

"How come?" Aunt Marge immediately looked interested.

"He's... He's-" Dad's moustache twitched. "We had to send him to St Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys. He left us no choice."

Dudley almost laughed out loud, hearing that.

"is that so?" Aunt Marge seemed pleased at hearing that. "Well done, Vernon, Petunia. He'll get just what he needs there, by the sound of it – a firm hand. I don't believe this namby-pamby, wishy-washy nonsense about not using force on people who deserve it."

"Yes, yes. They know how to treat boys like him there," said Dad.

"And they keep him over the holidays. Easter holidays as well?"

"Of course. He'll be there until summer."

"Excellent," said Aunt Marge with obvious pleasure. "He'll be out of your hair as much as possible, and who knows, maybe they'll manage to force some sense into him at that school."

Dudley grinned vindictively, liking the thought of his cousin stuck at St Brutus while he got to enjoy the comforts of home. Until he remembered that Harry was actually at Hogwarts, and staying there voluntarily.

It was a sobering thought. Once that had occurred to him, listening to his parents tell lies about Harry became difficult to listen to. Not long after that, he became fidgety, and his mother allowed him to leave the table and go upstairs.

It was all his cousin's fault, he thought to himself, as he climbed the stairs. It was because he was such a freak that his parents were forced to come up with excuses for him. Except, the thing that made Harry a freak was apparently his magic.

Magic.

All those weird things that used to happen to his cousin – from making it impossible to cut his hair to turning their teacher's wig blue – had been caused by magic. Dudley had never given it much thought how Harry had done those things before. In fact, he had been convinced that none of them were actually his cousin's fault. But he had known that his parents would believe him – or anyone else – that whatever had happened had been Harry's fault.

It was an uncomfortable realisation that his parents had been right – at least some of the time. Harry was not such a wimp after all. He could do more than just give smart retorts and run away. His magic had protected him more than once.

Dudley shivered as he remembered his last birthday. Had Harry really set a boa constrictor on him? He was suddenly very glad that Harry had opted to remain at school. He was aware, though, that summer would eventually come, and Harry would return, together with a year's worth of magical learning. Dudley was not looking forward to that reunion.

What would Harry do, once he came back, with all that knowledge, and his lifelong memories of how he had been treated by the Dursleys? His parents had known all about Harry's magic from the beginning– not that they had told either of them – and they did not seem worried about having him back in the house eventually. And Dudley still trusted his parents to protect him, even though on occasion they had proved ineffectual against people with magic.

The real issue was that Dudley knew, in Harry's place, very little would stop him to get his revenge. If he had magic-

Now, what a thought that was. If Dudley had magic. His parents may call it freakishness all they wanted. Dudley knew – though he felt he would never be able to admit it to anyone – least of all his parents – that he still wanted it. He wanted to be magical just like Harry. He was sure he would have made a much better wizard – wise and powerful, and always getting his way.

He understood, though, without ever having asked directly, that one either had it, or not. And if one of those stupid letters were not sent to him, all the begging in the world would not get him magic.

He did not even try, of course. His parents, he was well aware, had always tried to give him everything he wanted, especially if it was something Harry wanted, as well. Nothing of the sort had happened. Instead, his parents had been scared as soon as they had seen the letters, but even with all the crazy things his dad had tried to get away from them, none of it had prevented the wizards from taking Harry.

That was the state of things, then. He wanted magic. Harry had it. And nothing could change that. Telling himself that if it was something Harry had, he would not like it anyway, did not help in the slightest. He wanted to know so much what magic was like, what it could do, what it was like to have it, to study it.

There was no way he could find out, though, short of asking Harry-

Dudley was passing his cousin's new bedroom – his old room – when thinking that, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a noise from inside the room. He heard it again a moment later – a soft hooting, barely audible through the closed door and vaguely familiar – and it almost made him run back to his parents in panic.

He listened for the sound again, but all remained quiet. It was probably nothing, he told himself. He had most likely imagined it. That was what he got for thinking about Harry of all people. There was no need to run downstairs and make his parents come up to check out the room. It would make him look like a coward – especially if there was nothing. There was also Aunt Marge, he remembered, who did not know about magic. She really would think him a coward, and Dudley was uncomfortably aware that his parents would not explain things to her, not even to spare Dudley the embarrassment.

There was no other way. He would have to check out the room himself. There was no way he would get any sleep that night otherwise.

It took him a few tries, but finally his legs obeyed him and carried him to the door of Harry's room. Finding the courage to twist the handle and step inside took even longer. But he finally did-

And almost screamed when he saw the snowy owl on Harry's bed. He choked off his scream when he heard the owl hoot again. He recognised it. Her. She belonged to his cousin. But why was she here? How had she turned up in Dudley's house? Had Harry returned in secret and was now hiding in his room, biding his time?

Dudley had the frantic urge to either rush through the room and search it for his cousin's hiding place, or run away from there as quickly as possible, and hide in his own room.

The owl did not let him, though. It flew towards him, circled his head once, then went to sit on the head rail of the bed again. Just behind the package on top of Harry's bed, to be precise.

Dudley's mind finally caught up with what he was seeing. At least in part. Had he given it enough thought, he would have concluded that most likely a package from Harry would contain something humiliating for him at best, or even outright harmful. But he had ripped open the packaging and was reading the note by the time that occurred to him.

He read:

Dudley,

By now you've probably killed all the aliens in Mega Mutilation 2, eaten enough to feed a small family for a week, and thrown a tantrum – which got you whatever you wanted, I'm sure, if Aunt Marge is there as usual. Aunt Petunia wouldn't want her precious Diddykins look bad in front of a guest, would she?

Dudley almost stopped reading at that point, noticing that it was meant to insult him, even though all of it was true. No one had ever said such things to him before, and he was not entirely sure what to think of it.

But if there's any hope for you at all, you should have noticed that something is missing in all that – something of the wonder of Christmas.

And I don't think you'll be able to find it in Aunt Petunia's tinsel-free living room; or Aunt Marge's hugs – however much money she might pay you for them; or Uncle Vernon's approval of everything you do – be it overeating, bullying, throwing tantrums, or neglecting your school work.

I've just discovered it for the first time myself at Hogwarts. It's to be found in playing outside in the snow that is so filled with laughter that you forget all about the cold, and in warming back up with hot chocolate in front of a fireplace while playing games without ever keeping track who won. It's found in thinking about what presents to give, rather than receive, for a change, and hoping that they'll make your friends happy. Most of all, it's found in people one cares for, and who care in return. There is some sort of magic in that – the best sort of magic.

Hogwarts is rather full of magic, as you can imagine. It's everywhere, especially at this time. It's hard to describe how beautiful the castle looks right now. I've just come up after the best dinner I've ever eaten, only to find the dorms had also been decorated while we were all gone. I'm so filled with magic, I felt I had to share – especially with those who are completely without it.

So, as 'tis the season for giving, I'm sending you a book about magic. I know. Two of your least favourite things – books and magic – in one. But maybe you can get over yourself for once.

Happy Christmas,

Harry.

It was a book about magic. It came with an insulting letter from Harry. His parents would have a fit if they even knew it was in their house.

It would answer the questions he had, the ones he had been thinking about all evening.

Dudley reached out towards the book. His hand slowed mid-way, as he heard a noise, then realised it was just loud laughter from his father. His family was still at the dinner table, and it did not seem as if they would leave any time soon.

Dudley drew the book towards himself and began to read. In the end, he was not one to deny himself his momentary wants.

It was only when he heard the sound of loud conversation coming up the stairs that he realised how long he had stayed there. Quickly, he slipped out of Harry's room, and into his own, slipping under his covers after just taking his shoes off. As he knew from long nights of playing computer games past his bed time, his mother looked in on him, to tuck him in and kiss his cheek, before going to sleep herself.

He did not have to force himself to stay awake. His mind was so buzzing with everything he had read that sleep would not have come even if he had wanted it to. As soon as he heard the double snoring from his parents' room and the guest room, he slipped out of bed, and back into Harry's room, armed with his new, and as of yet unbroken, torch, to continue reading. There was not much left, as he discovered , as he turned the last page some time later.

The moving illustrations still held him entranced as he looked at them, but on the whole, the book had left him with more questions than answers. It really was a very slim book, and though that had been the most reading Dudley had ever done in all his life, the information he had acquired was not enough to satisfy his curiosity. Only one question had been answered sufficiently. He now knew for sure that he wanted to find out more about magic, scary though it could be.

Harry's owl hooted softly, jerking Dudley out of his thoughts. She did it again, louder this time.

"Shh," said Dudley insistently, then felt foolish for shushing an owl. She seemed to have understood, though, and only hooted very softly the third time.

Was she trying to tell him something?

As Dudley looked at her, she held out her leg. Before he knew how to respond, she flew in a circle over his head again, and landed on the windowsill, then pulled up the latch and pushed to open the window. She really was an extraordinarily smart owl. Or perhaps there was some subtle magic involved-

"Wait!" said Dudley before the owl could fly away.

He hurried to his room and back, and managed to send a short letter with her. He wondered at himself, as he watched the owl fly off. Had that been a stupid thing to do? A dangerous thing to do? Would it make things better or worse come summer when he and Harry would be back under one roof?

Dudley finally decided he was too sleepy to think about that, but he made sure to hide his new book in Harry's room before going to sleep – not that his parents ever went in there, but he wanted to be sure nothing would happen to it.