"I think Mom's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about him."
A passing whisper here, a stifled rumor there: despite their best efforts, Dudley Dursley and Mafalda Prewett could do little to ignore the strangeness infested in their village. Though Mafalda was quite talkative with everyone she met, Dudley himself was quite warier with whom he spoke and befriended. Sure, the neighbors looked perfectly friendly, but Dudley couldn't help but notice the strange fashion trend of cloaks taken by most, the way people seemed to vanish on the street before having the chance to walk away…
It wasn't too noticeable, perhaps, to Mafalda, but how apparent it had become to Dudley over the years! Perhaps Mafalda's friends hid their strangeness well, but Dudley's job as an accountant at a local bank highlighted the oddities of his neighbors. Nearly everyone with whom he was familiar had difficulties using currency, try as one may to hide it. Somehow, it was more ironic yet that Mafalda was blind to this—though she herself was perfectly ordinary (much to Mr. and Mrs. Dursley's delight), wouldn't her father, a fellow accountant who had introduced the two, have mentioned something?
Dudley, of course, had his own suspicions about the nature of his place of residence, but despite his utter fear of the magic probable to exist in the village, he voiced none to Mafalda, the love of his life and pedestal of normality. Outside the village, Mafalda had few friends and never spoke of her family, but Dudley couldn't help but find her—well—safe. Perhaps calling Mafalda the love of his life was an exaggeration, but after a childhood plagued by the dangers caused by living with (dare he say the name?) Harry Potter, an ordinary, perfectly powerless girlfriend was the epitome of what Dudley had wanted ever since reaching his breaking point when fifteen. He missed Harry, of course—after all, his cousin had saved his life on that rare occasion—but if it weren't for Harry, his life wouldn't have needed saving… or so he managed to convince himself as he gazed doubtfully at the diamond ring planted firmly in the palm of his hand.
He planned to propose tonight (tonight!) to his girlfriend three years inferior; the least he could do was hope that Mafalda didn't consider it rushed. She eighteen, he twenty-one, they had dated since their introduction almost a year ago and moved into the village together several months prior. She was his best shot for a life rid of any traces of the Potters, and he was fully willing to take it. Any doubts in his mind were always cleared away quickly; it wasn't as though he loathed Mafalda, even though they didn't always see eye-to-eye. Besides, they usually got on quite well, and she seemed to enjoy his presence. What reason would she have to say no?
And so, on that determined note, Dudley marched into his living room, fully prepared to pop the question then and there. Mafalda had discussed marriage with him offhand; she claimed to like the dependable sort, and as she loathed surprises and extravagance, Dudley didn't bother with the dinner date he had perhaps hoped for, simply planning to ask them in their cozy home. Sure enough, she was sitting in their overstuffed armchair, a dusty book in her lap and her nose wrinkled as usual.
"Hello, dear," greeted Dudley pleasantly, flopping on their equally overstuffed sofa with a sigh of relief: he had lost tremendous weight since adolescence but still found the notions of exercise and traveling long distances revolting. He smiled a bit as he gazed around the homey room with its peach-painted walls and mismatched furniture; his mother had screamed upon first seeing Dudley's house, having always been surgically clean herself, but Dudley took a strange liking to the contrast from his childhood.
Mafalda merely nodded in response, her eyes darting unnaturally fast across the pages. Dudley waited patiently for her to find a good pause in the novel; she did so soon enough and surveyed Dudley over spindly, crossed fingers.
A very odd thing happened in that moment: her piercing gaze struck Dudley in a way he had not been struck since his last glance at that warlock, Dumbly-something, and he wondered if either of them had the ability to read minds. And so he blurted without thinking the proposal before any of the preparation talk he had planned so carefully beforehand, hoping desperately that Mafalda would not be taken aback: "D'you want to get married?"
"Excuse me?" asked Mafalda coldly, though there was a touch of what was potentially happy surprise in her voice.
Blustering, Dudley hurried forward to kneel, presenting her with the ring. "Do you want—I mean, er—will you marry me?"
His grin faltered dramatically at Mafalda's curved frown and lack of response. "I hate surprises," she said instead, and Dudley couldn't help but take this as a bad sign.
"You—what?" he stuttered, feeling very much like an ignorant schoolboy at that moment.
"I can't say your proposal is one," she said as though she hadn't heard him, "but I was quite taken aback indeed when I learned of your… childhood…" Her nose wrinkled even more so at the word. Clearing her throat, she continued, "I happened to fall into unfortunate contact with my dear third cousin a few weeks ago and heard the whole story."
Overwhelmed by dread, Dudley croaked, "You—you know about Harry?" Just my luck, he thought grimly, and just when I thought things were looking up…
"Only," Mafalda assured him, "because the said third cousin is his best friend, Ronald. I daresay he telephoned you once over the summer holidays? Your father answered, of course?"
It was less a curious question than flat-out mockery; Dudley gurgled, feeling much like a startled goldfish. His thoughts, rather than empty with shock, swirled too fast to put them into words: it seemed like only yesterday when he had pressed his ear to the keyhole of the kitchen door and listened to his parents discuss the Hogwarts letters they were receiving, the first blissful year with Harry gone, a snowy white owl cawing from Harry's bedroom, the catflap on Harry's door, the telephone call Mafalda had mentioned… Harry's teenage face swirled before his eyes, and he suddenly felt rather nauseated.
Not waiting for a reply any longer, Mafalda took it upon herself to go on. "I'm a witch myself, but I never went to Hogwarts. Homeschooled, you know, because my mother didn't want me out of her sight for a moment." Pursing her lips, Mafalda said with distinct irritation, "My parents were horrendous teachers and took it upon themselves to make my schooling miserable. I've wanted ever since to lead a normal, perfectly happy life and hoped that you would provide some stability… until I spoke to Ronald."
This very fast flow of information suddenly hit Dudley with striking intensity, and he stammered out, "But—but—I thought you were normal! I wanted to get away from Harry—and—and—"
"I take it we're both single now, then," said Mafalda crisply, now twiddling her thumbs with disinterest. "Unfortunately for both of us, I'm not rid of you just yet."
"You—what?" Dudley said again, only realizing after how stupid he sounded, repeating the same stammers over and over. A blush crept over him that he struggled to repress.
"Never quick to catch on to these things, were you?" laughed Mafalda. Her chuckle was not a pleasant one. "I've never met Ronald before now and wouldn't have if it weren't that Harry wanted to get in touch with you. Said it was… important?"
Before either of them knew it, Dudley had dropped to the ground in a dead faint.
"Dudley? Dudley, wake up."
Dudley moaned and almost involuntarily opened his eyes, blinking rapidly in the blinding light. From what he could make out, he was in a spotless white room, reminding him eerily of a hospital but for the lack of surgical equipment. Cheerful sunlight streamed through the window just beside his bed, and he attempted to bury his face back into his unfamiliar pillow, shaking uncontrollably.
"Go away."
"No," came the gentle reply, and he grudgingly met the eyes of an unfamiliar redhead, probably, he figured with a groan, a witch, considering his luck as of late. Is unspoken question—who are you?—went answered almost instantly. "Molly Weasley, Healer," she said, smiling. "Now that I think of it, I should probably be calling you Mr. Dursley, but we can't have that, not when my daughter's engaged to your cousin."
Blearily, Dudley tried to make sense of her words. "Your—Harry—engaged?" he spluttered thickly, waving his hands wildly as though this would clarify his question.
She nodded, and the grin faded. "Blimey," muttered Molly dryly, "and he told me you were improving…"
Dudley wisely chose not to press the matter as Molly smoothed his covers, twiddling a wand between her fingers. "Where am I?" he asked simply, eliciting the return of her smile.
"St. Mungo's Hospital," said Molly darkly. "It's a Wizarding hospital—I had to pull a few strings to stop them from erasing your memory of this place. Mafalda apparently tried to revive you with magic after you fainted—"
"I didn't faint!" interrupted Dudley indignantly, almost by instinct.
Smiling knowingly, Molly said, "Passed out, then. Anyway, seems that she hasn't done magic long enough to still retain the ability, so she did more harm than good, panicked, and took you here. She said something about Harry wanting to see you before she left for Godric's Hollow; why that place hasn't been investigated for charges against the Statute of Secrecy I can't imagine…"
Molly spoke on in this way until Dudley finally had the strength to sit up. Molly beamed. "Good, you're all right; there shouldn't be any need to keep you longer. I'm on duty, obviously, but Harry got off work a few minutes ago and promised to Apparate in to check on you. He mentioned something about taking you to The Three Broomsticks for a chat; must be lovely, it's been a long four years for you, I take it? Certainly has been for me, what with getting my Healing degree and all, I haven't had a chance until my children graduated—"
Dudley was saved from further conversation (he was beginning to get the feeling that Molly, though obviously kind, was a bit of a chatterbox) when a loud crack! echoed through the room. Dudley glanced quickly to the source of commotion… and found himself staring into the smirking face of Harry Potter.