Harry,

I've given a lot of thought over the years about what I'd say if I ever saw you again. I've given a lot of thought to the years we spent in this house. My plan for what I'd say always included an apology. Sometimes it included an explanation, which all too often became an excuse. To spare you from that, all I'll say is that you and I probably should have been more like brothers, but we never really had a chance, did we? I'm sorry for what happened in this house, and I'm sorry for my part in it. I hope you've been able to make peace with it; I know I still struggle sometimes. Honestly, making peace doesn't seem good enough — I hope you don't even think about it at all. I hope things have turned out alright enough for you that we're barely worth remembering.

I guess I'll start by saying we never got to talk about those things attacking us that you sent away back when we were fifteen, but I always wanted to. That summer was so hot, and that night was so cold. The coldest I've ever been. I was never really the same after that. It took me a good bit of time to sort through what I saw and felt that night. Even with it sorted, it took me a good bit longer to understand it. Now, fifteen years later, I think I can say that I saw myself. I felt suffering and ignorance and cruelty, and it was me. I saw who I was and what I was doing. I saw what I'd done to you, what we'd done to you. It was horrible.

A year after the attack, your teacher visited our house to pick you up. I know you must be well out of school by now, but if you are still in contact with him, please thank him for me. That year between the attack and his visit was the most confusing one of my life. Who I was had been thrown back in my face, and I didn't understand what it meant or what to do about it. Your teacher told Mum and Dad that they'd mistreated you, something I'd mostly come around to understanding by that point. But then he said something I've never forgotten. He said that, at the very least, you escaped the appalling damage they'd inflicted on me. He used the word appalling, I remember. He called me "the unfortunate boy."

So many things fell into place for me that night. I still disagree with your teacher that I got the worst of it out of the two of us, but what I've come to realise (and is a frequent topic of discussion with my counselor) is that I was both a perpetrator and a victim. Me calling myself a victim will probably give you a laugh — please don't think I'm trying to minimize the pain I caused you. But while you were being mistreated, I was being poisoned. I stormed out of the office the first time my counselor said that. I thought it was because they're still my parents, and I didn't want anyone badmouthing them, but I get now that I just didn't want to see myself as a victim. But I went back, Harry, because they turned me into something foul, and although I've since accepted that foulness wasn't my fault, it was my responsibility to deal with it. Hence the years of therapy.

We were all so happy when Hestia and Dedalus told us we could come out of hiding. Mum and Dad were glad they were going home and were to be rid of Hestia and Dedalus, but I was happy because you'd made it. Dedalus nearly drove my parents mad, but he's a good bloke (I hope he's well), and while we were away, he sometimes told me about the things you've done and were doing. The stories he told me about you and the war were unbelievable, but I believe them all. How he spoke about you, Harry, the respect and the awe — him and Hestia both. I don't think I've ever seen anyone speak of someone like that. We spent our entire childhood together, and I don't feel I ever really met you until I heard his stories. Like something out of an adventure book. And then we were going home, and this incredible window that'd opened into your life closed. I was back on Privet Drive with my parents, who went right back to having nothing but venom for anything they, in their arbitrary judgment, deemed abnormal.

I left the house a month after we got back. Big blowout with dad when I said we should try to reach out and see how you were doing. He said many terrible things about you and your parents and immigrants and the NHS and a whole lot of other nonsense that I won't repeat; you know how his rants went. Completely unhinged. Stuff we'd heard our entire childhood. For the first time in my life, I didn't let him spew his garbage unchallenged. It got rather heated; I think you'd have enjoyed it. Long story short, I took off. The look on their faces when I told them I was leaving, Harry. That, I know you'd have enjoyed.

I stayed with a friend for a bit, then hit Uni. I doubt Dad would have paid for my Sport and Exercise Science program even if I'd asked (how would I sell drills with that?), but I didn't ask. I met Katherine, who was studying literature and creative writing. She convinced me to find a counselor to talk to about this stuff. In two years, we were married. My parents weren't at the wedding.

I struggled for a long time with what we went through — what you went through. When I left home, I wanted to reach out but didn't know how. You hadn't left a mailing address, and you always got your mail brought by owls anyway (I remember Dad's rants about that), but the local Post was fresh out of owls. It wasn't until I let Katherine in on some stuff from when we were kids that I started asking myself whether I wanted to contact you for you or for me. I had lots to say. Lots to apologize for, lots to explain. But that was for me, to ease my conscience. What would me reaching out do for you? You'd been tormented throughout your childhood, and I had been one of your tormentors. I didn't know where you were or what you were doing, but surely you had moved on or were trying to. I so wanted to speak with you but decided that even if I could reach you, I'd likely only be reopening old wounds that have hopefully healed by now.

So much time has passed. Dad died about ten years back, a heart attack. Mum went last year, traffic collision. He stayed vile to the end. Mum, believe it or not, came 'round, at least when it came to spewing out all her nastiness. Not out of altruism, mind, but because Katherine and I wouldn't let her see our girls elsewise.

Yeah, Harry, my girls — Mary is nine, Holly just turned six. I got the house from the folks (Mum didn't want it after Dad went), and Katherine and I built a family here. A loving family at 4 Privet Drive, can you imagine? I thought it might be difficult coming back, but we're making new happy memories right over the old terrible ones. It doesn't undo what happened, but I don't know, I feel like it helps. I was so worried about being a father, Harry, so worried about hurting them like we were hurt, but our girls are wonderful. Mary is so smart and thoughtful. Holly has this incredible energy that lights up the room; she's such a troublemaker, but in the best possible ways. They both mostly take after their mother, thank God.

I've told them all about you. Harry Potter is their favorite bedtime story character. Some stories are loosely based on the ridiculous tales Dedalus told me. Others are largely my own creation, having taken extensive creative liberties with what I know about you and your world. A bit of Katherine's creativity must have rubbed off on me somewhere along the way. I hope you don't mind being a fictional character. The stories Dedalus told me seemed ripped right out of an adventure book, so that's what I made them. I wanted to share you with my family, and this seemed like the best way to do that and not reveal anything that was meant to stay a secret. Katherine, of course, knows there is a real Cousin Harry out there, but she doesn't know about the magic bits.

Kat tells me I tend to ramble on in my writing (ever the editor), and I'm rambling now, so I'll get to my point. I'm trying to say that I genuinely did not wish to cause you any pain by reaching out; I was fully willing to let Harry Potter remain my kids' bedtime story hero and let you move on.

So why this letter? I'm reaching out because I'm scared, Harry.

My parents' treatment of you, though never right, took a turn for the worst when the (as my lovely mother always put it) "freak" behavior began. A bunch of seemingly impossible things — your hair growing back overnight after Mum took her scissors to it, you somehow shrinking my old hand-me-downs to fit, you ending up on the roof while I was chasing you around, and that time at the Zoo the snake got loose. Strange, inexplicable things seemed to happen around you.

I'm scared because strange, inexplicable things seem to keep happening around Holly, too.

When she was a baby, Holly loved our dog Brody, and Brody loved her. To get Holly down to sleep, we'd have to carry Brody out of the room and close the door. I can't tell you how many times we'd suddenly find Brody back in the room, playing with Holly. The door never opened, Harry.

Her favorite flowers in the back garden bloom much longer than they should, and the ones she says are ugly seem to wither even with proper care.

After hard falls while riding her bike, she hops back up without a scratch on her. I've seen her take tumbles that should've left her with scraped up knees or hands, and she pops up right as rain.

Mum's old china often tends to shatter when Holly's in a mood.

More recently, one of Katherine's nieces dyed her hair violet. Holly was quite taken with the color and asked for the same. After we decided she was too young to dye her hair, she stormed off to bed. She came downstairs the next morning with vibrant violet hair, which, in turn, vanished overnight two weeks later when she'd lost interest.

These incidents were just charmingly bizarre and amusing mysteries for the first few years. But they kept happening, Harry, and they're starting to be noticed. My wife doesn't understand what's going on, but I think I do. More than think, I'm pretty bloody sure. Our mums' parents weren't magic, yet your mum was, so that can happen, yeah? I really think it has. I think Holly can do magic, and it terrifies me. I don't know who is more scared — Kat, who has no idea what's happening, or me, who knows exactly what's going on. But we're both afraid.

Don't misunderstand me. We are not afraid of our daughter. We are afraid for her. This should go without saying, but I guess that's not the case in our family, is it? I want to help her, Harry, and I'm terrified that I can't. The only way I've seen for parents to deal with this kind of stuff is not something that will ever be repeated in this house. At the same time, is this something I can keep ignoring?

These strange little oddities can be swept under the rug, but you blew up our Aunt, Harry. Invisible creatures attacked us because you can do magic. I'm afraid that Holly will get hurt or that she's going to hurt someone else accidentally. I'm afraid things will happen in front of people, and those people will fear my daughter or try to take her away from us. The thought of Holly being called a "freak" by someone like my mother breaks my heart.

I'm afraid of what happens to my girl when she starts to realize she has something to hide. My childhood chat with Dad about changing bodies was traumatizing and confusing enough, and that was something he went through himself. How am I supposed to talk to her about something like this? I wouldn't know where to start. Christ, this will be a shock for Kat, yeah? But she needs to know. She needs to know that I know what's happening to Holly, and she needs to know that we're gonna be okay.

So this is why I tracked down our old neighbor Mrs. Figg. You remember she used to watch you whenever Mum, Dad, and I went on holiday? Well, I remember that she was there after we were attacked and knew all about those creatures and your stuff, so I figured she might have one of those owls or something. She doesn't live on Privet Drive anymore, but I had enough info to find her and give her a call. She, like me, thought it'd be best if I didn't reach out to you. Actually, the words she used were "what right do you have?" You've clearly still got people who think highly of you, which makes me glad. But she was at least nice enough to invite me over tomorrow for tea, so I'm going to have a chance to explain things to her. I hope she understands and'll be willing to forward this to you. I think she will.

I don't rightly know what I'm asking for here. Is there some kind of test Holly can take to figure out whether or not she can do magic? Some sort of magic DNA or blood test? Knowing for sure would be nice, I guess. But as I said, I'm pretty sure already. More than anything, I really just need someone to talk to about this. I need help understanding what this means for my family, and I need help explaining it to them. I'd really like it if that person was you. I have so much to tell you, so much I want to hear. I know you'd like the girls because everyone does, and even if you weren't their favorite bedtime story character, I know they'd like you because they like everyone.

But Mrs. Figg is right — I have no right to ask anything of you. Me asking you to send someone to help probably already crosses that line, so while I hope you're the one, I won't ask you to be. If you'd rather leave the Dursleys in the past, I'll understand and will not bother you again. But this one time, my worry for Holly overrides the guilt I feel for imposing myself on you. Please send someone. Not for me. For her. So she doesn't have to grow up scared and confused like I know you must have. I need some help, Harry, because she deserves someone who can explain things to her when the time comes, and I need to be ready for that. I would never react as my parents did, but I'm just as afraid of not having answers for her and leaving her in the dark. I refuse to let her, even for a second, think there's anything wrong with her. Please help me make sure that never happens.

I truly do hope you're well. After everything that happened with us and everything Dedalus told me you've been through on your side of things, you deserve it. I meant it when I said I'd leave you be and wouldn't reach out again, but if you ever decide you can stomach it, whether it's right after you get this letter or twenty years on, please don't hesitate to reach out. Number 4 Privet Drive isn't the same house you left. The Dursleys aren't the same family. And there's an open invitation for you to swing 'round for tea anytime you'd like.

All the best,

Your cousin Dudley

✧︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨✧ ✧୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵✧

Dudley,

How about Sunday next at 4? Ginny's (my wife's) folks can keep the kids after Sunday lunch, so we'll be free to pop in if you'd like. James, Albus, and Lily were all very excited to find out they have even more cousins than they thought, but it sounds like we have a lot to talk about, so it should probably just be Ginny and me this time, yeah?

Let me know if Sunday works. The owl bringing this letter will wait with you for your response. She might try to get some food out of you. Don't give her any; the kids overfeed her as it is, and I'm afraid she won't be able to make it back if she puts any more weight on.

For the record, you wrote that you calling yourself a victim will probably give me a laugh. It didn't. That's something I've understood for quite some time now. You're right that you and I never really had a chance. But there doesn't seem to be anything stopping us from trying now.

It's good to hear from you, Big D. Holly is going to be fine. More than fine. You all will.

See you soon,

Your cousin Harry

✧︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨✧ ✧୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵✧

Notes:

I've always found the Harry-Dudley dynamic fascinating, and I think enough beats were included in the books to infer that Dudley probably became a better person than one would expect from someone with his childhood. This is my take on an adult Dudley who wants to do right by his daughter, and a Harry who has built himself a rich enough life that he has no problem putting past enmities aside.

This is my first foray into fanfiction. I have a pretty detailed outline for a larger story I'd like to post, but I figured I should get my feet wet first and learn about the process for posting, so I rather quickly typed up this one shot. Still, the fact that I wrote this quickly doesn't absolve me of any issues it has, so please let me know what you think.

I think that after my larger fic (or perhaps in-between chapters as the mood strikes me), I'd like to post a series of "missing moment" one shots — events that probably happened "off-screen" so to speak in canon, or events we saw but from someone else's perspective, or Epilogue-compliant vignettes in the Wizarding World, like this one. So I guess this is the first of a future anthology series? I can't promise a quick turnaround, but if you have any ideas for canon-compliant "missing moment" one shots you'd like to see, let me know, and I'll see what I can do.