The phone never rang. Dudley waited anxiously near the telephone in his luxurious estate house in Surrey—not half an hour's drive from number 4 Privet Drive, where he'd grown up and where his parents still lived—but it never once rang.

At first, he assumed Gabrielle was still travelling and had no time to call. A week after their parting, he grew angry, blaming her for leading him on and making him think that there was something more to their relationship beyond a one-night stand. After another week passed, the anger at Gabrielle faded to be replaced with anger at himself. As he resumed his regular training regimen, he struck the punching bag with extra vigor, infuriated that he could have been stupid enough to imagine that there had been anything more than a one-night stand. He'd met a girl at the club, drunk a lot, and gone back to his hotel. That wasn't the formula for a deep and lasting relationship.

The weirdest thing was that Dudley wasn't interested in a deep or lasting relationship. He'd only ever been on a few dates, never really had a steady girlfriend, and he'd always been content with that. Long-term relationships didn't suit him very well, he'd always thought. He shouldn't have cared if Gabrielle never called.

But, of course, he did care. He cared very much.

One day, while Dudley was in a particularly bad bout of anger at himself, Piers stopped by to talk, as always, about money. As he helped himself to Dudley's rather depleted stock of whiskey, he observed Dudley's unkempt appearance—he'd let his hair grow out too far, he hadn't shaved, and he had dirty laundry thrown haphazardly around the spacious living room.

"Letting yourself go, Big D?" Piers asked, sipping from his glass before making a face and adding two ice cubes.

Dudley, who was sitting in an armchair taking swigs from a bottle of beer held loosely in his hand, only grunted in response.

"Look, D, you can't go to pieces. You're the world champion, mate; you've got to act it. People haven't seen you since the win. Ozols met with the press right after the match, vowed a rematch and everything. We've issued statements, but your fans need to see you, Dud, they need to see Big D. And they sure as hell can't see you like this!" Piers drained his watered-down whiskey and coughed. "What's it about, Dud? Why are you doing this?"

"Go to hell, Piers," Dudley said, and he took another swig of beer.

Piers was quiet for a moment. Then he straightened his tie and said, "I've put your winnings from the match into a fund that should offer a nice payout. You've got several companies waiting to talk to you about sponsorship opportunities. I think I may have someone interested in making you the face of their brand, even, how about that?"

Dudley snorted.

"Whatever the hell is wrong with you, Dud, you better fix it, right?" Piers waited for a response, but none was forthcoming. "Is this about a girl, Dud? Is that what this is? Get burned, did you?"

"Leave me alone."

"Oh, so it is a girl. Right. Buck up, mate. There's plenty of other—"

"Shove off, Piers, okay? Just drop it."

"Dudley, mate, look," Piers began, making an obvious effort to sound soothing, "we all miss a shot here and there. Sometimes a girl just gets away. It happens. You know what you need? You need a night out, find yourself a new mark. I'm out of town until Saturday morning, but what say we go out then? It's not Friday, but there's bound to be some girls in the club. And if they're there on a Saturday, Dud, you know they've got to be desperate," Piers chuckled.

Dudley finished off his beer and balanced the empty bottle on the arm of his chair. "Can't," he grunted.

"Oh, come on, mate—"

"I'm busy Saturday." Dudley rubbed his stubbly cheek as he considered his weekend plans for the first time since his brunch with his mother. "You remember my cousin Harry?"

"Sure, scrawny git with the scar on his head?"

"That's him. He's getting married on Saturday."

Piers snorted. "Really? I figured he was definitely gay."

Dudley frowned. "What'd you think that for?"

"I dunno, I guess because he was always so…brooding, you know? I mean, he only ever came back to Little Whinging for the summer holidays, and then he'd spend all his time alone, shut up inside the house or lurking around the neighborhood. Plus, you know, your dad hated him, so I just thought…" Piers trailed off with a shrug.

"That's not why—" Dudley began, but he stopped abruptly shaking his head. "Anyway, my mum and I are going to his wedding."

"Oh. Well, congratulations, I guess," Piers said.

"Yeah…" Dudley yawned. A sudden thought struck him. "What d'you reckon I should wear? You go to things like this, I don't. What do I wear?"

"Are you a member of the wedding party?"

"No, why would I be?"

"The hell do I know, Dud, I thought you hated each other's guts, but you're going to his wedding. Jesus, Big D, when was the last time you even spoke to him?"

It was Dudley's turn to shrug. "It's been a while."

"Just wear a dark suit, light shirt, plain tie. Can't go wrong with that, mate, it's foolproof."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, definitely. And shave, mate—you look like a caveman."

It was no caveman who pulled his sleek Mercedes up in front of number four, Privet Drive, on Saturday morning. Dudley was actually quite pleased with how he looked; he'd mostly taken Piers's advice and wore a sharp, navy blue suit with a light blue shirt. He had selected a tie from his wardrobe, but it lay in a huddle on the passenger's seat of his car, ready if he needed it but not essential to his outfit.

As he leaned against the glistening paint of the driver's side door, Dudley checked his watch, a strange anxiety tightening his stomach. He was exactly on time, an anomaly for him. Also out of character was Petunia's absence from hovering about the front window, waiting for him. Dudley had expected to see the window curtains twitching back into place as he'd pulled into the driveway, but there was no sign of life. And now he'd been there nearly a full minute and his mother hadn't come rushing out.

He checked his watch again. Two minutes.

Dudley pushed himself away from the car, about to move towards his parents' front door, when it opened, and his mother stepped out. She was wearing a lovely blue dress that coordinated perfectly—if unintentionally—with Dudley's suit. A matching blue handbag dangled from her arm as she checked that the door was locked behind her, and she had a neat blue hat held in her hand. In all, she looked a bit like the Queen, with her excessively coordinated outfit, though a good bit younger.

"Morning, Diddykins," Petunia murmured, pecking Dudley on the cheek. Dudley gave his mother a perfunctory kiss in return and opened the passenger door.

When Petunia was settled in and Dudley had shut the door behind her, he slid behind the wheel and turned the car on. He put one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the gear shift, and then froze.

"Where are we going?" he asked his mother, puzzled. It occurred to him then, and for the first time ever, that he had no idea where the other world was. A half a dozen ideas immediately flashed through his brain, most prominent of which was a truly other world, to which one would have to travel by portal. But then he remembered a troupe of ginger men in oddly mismatched clothing stumbling out of the fireplace they had just blown up, and he imagined that the other world was really just a miniature, that they all shrank down to be one-inch tall and lived inside the walls of other people's houses. The idea seemed almost plausible for a minute, until Dudley remembered owls and realized that an owl would see a one-inch tall person and eat him, rather than carry his letters. Then he remembered crowds of people appearing out of nowhere at King's Cross Station, and then the idea of a portal didn't seem unreasonable anymore.

While Dudley imagined, Petunia rifled through her purse, pulling out the invitation and the note that had come with it. She glanced at both, then frowned and looked more closely. "The invitation says that the wedding is in Devon—some small town in the country, I suppose, I've never heard of Ottery St. Catchpole—but the directions he wrote out say to go southeast. That can't be right."

"Let me see," Dudley said, reaching for the note with the directions. Sure enough, his mother was correct. "Well, what do we do now?" Dudley demanded, irritated.

Petunia blinked and drew in a deep breath. "I…I suppose we follow the directions," she decided. Dudley snorted, but he put the car into gear and turned southeast.

They drove for well over an hour through quiet country roads until the directions ended. When they did, Dudley pulled his car over to the side of the otherwise and empty road and turned off the engine. He had no idea where they were. There was certainly no village or wedding anywhere that he could see. Instead, rolling green fields with the occasional sheep stretched out before him for miles.

"Here we are," he told Petunia. "We're definitely not in Devon. Do you reckon he was taking the piss?"

"I don't know," Petunia replied. She sounded distressed. Dudley glanced over at her, trying to gauge how upset she was, when he spotted a man sitting and reading a book in the field on the opposite side of the road. Fumbling in his haste, Dudley scrambled out of the car and jogged across the road.

"Oi! Hello, hey, you!" he shouted.

The man looked up. He was a round-faced gentleman with an odd scar on his lip and a pleasant smile on his face. His baggy clothing and raincoat spilled onto the grass around him, presumably protecting him from the grass's dampness. On seeing Dudley, he cocked his head to the side and looked expectant. "Can I help you?" he asked.

"Sorry to bother you, but you don't happen to know the way to Ottery St. Catchpole, do you?" Dudley inquired, feeling stupid.

A broad grin stretched across the man's face. "Ottery St. Catchpole, you say? Aren't you in the wrong part of the country for that? That's in Devon, mate."

"Yeah, I know, I just—"

The man laughed. "I'm kidding, sorry. You must be Dudley. Harry asked me to wait here and collect you. I'm Neville, by the way, Neville Longbottom." He rose to his feet and held out his hand to Dudley. As he stood, the clothing that Dudley had presumed to be a rain slicker settled into its proper form, and Dudley recognized the odd robes like the ones that he'd seen on his cousin's old headmaster.

"Oh, so you're a, uh…you're, you know…"

Longbottom's smile faded, and he seemed puzzled. "I'm a mate of Harry and Ginny's from school. I'm meant to bring you and your mum to the wedding. Is that her there?" he asked, gesturing towards the car. Dudley nodded, and Longbottom immediately turned and loped towards the car.

Petunia rolled down her window. "Are you here to direct us to the wedding?" she asked timidly.

"No, I'm here to take you to the wedding," Longbottom said. "You may want to move your car off the road."

Petunia's eyes widened slightly, and Dudley put a large hand on Longbottom's shoulder. "What're you doing with our car?" he demanded.

"Nothing! But this seems a silly place to leave it, don't you think? What if someone comes along and tries to figure out what it's doing here?"

Dudley hesitated. "Are we not—not driving?"

Longbottom smiled the way that people smile at those poorly endowed with brains. "That'd be a long drive, mate. Besides, with the security measures that we've had to put in place—what with it being such a high profile wedding and all, you know, we don't want anybody there who shouldn't be—there's no way we'd be able to get in by driving. Nah, we're taking a portkey. Don't worry, Hermione promised that it will perfectly safe, her parents have already traveled to the Burrow via a portkey she set up for them. So, do you want to move the car?"

Dudley and his mother exchanged a glance. Nearly half of what Longbottom said was total gibberish to them.

"What in the fresh hell is a portkey?" Dudley demanded.

"Is the wedding high profile?" Petunia inquired, sounding taken aback.

"Course it is!" Longbottom exclaimed. "It's Harry-bloody-Potter! And he's marrying the Harpies' star chaser. The Minister of Magic is going to attend, along with most of the ministry's highest profile officials. There are a whole bunch of internationally acclaimed Quidditch players who're meant to turn up. It's the most anticipated wedding in the whole wizarding world!"

Neither Dudley nor Petunia had anything to respond to such a claim. After a brief pause, Dudley cleared his throat. "So…what's a portkey?"

Longbottom pointed to the field where he had been sitting. "It's just there. If you move the car there, we can be underway. We've only got about ten minutes before the portkey's scheduled to leave anyway."

Still confused, Dudley slid back into the driver's seat and followed Longbottom's directions to park the car off the road in a field. When that was done, Dudley made to get out of the car, but Petunia grabbed his arm.

"Dudley," she said, her voice low and urgent, "are we certain that this is safe?"

Dudley shrugged. "There's no one around, mum. Who's going to steal the car here?"

"And the rest of it?" Petunia asked. Dudley frowned, not comprehending. "Going to this wedding? Where we'll know no one, we'll have nothing in common with anyone, we won't know what's happening?"

"I reckon we already made that decision, mum," Dudley said, waving his hand in a general motion towards the empty fields around them. "We're going." He pushed himself out of the car and went around to the passenger side to hold the door for his mother.

Longbottom had returned to the spot in the field where Dudley and Petunia had originally found him. When the two Dursleys joined him, he was standing next to and staring intently at what looked to be a frying pan whose handle had broken off. He glanced at Dudley. "Have you got the time?" he asked, a note of anxiety tingeing his voice.

Dudley checked his watch. "It's half past," he said.

"No, no, the exact time."

"The exact time? Twenty-eight minutes past the hour."

Longbottom pulled a watch out of an inside pocket of his robes and studied the face. "Right, right, that's what I've got as well," he muttered. He looked at Petunia. "Harry said you'd be prompt, and Hermione took him at his word, so when he said you'd be here at half past, she scheduled the portkey for half past. That gives us two minutes. Right. Yeah. Okay, two minutes, perfect."

"What happens in two minutes?" Dudley asked, scanning the surrounding area quickly for signs of an imminently arriving portal.

"Uh, well, the portkey will sort of, I guess…activate? And then we just, you know, grab on, and the portkey will pull us there. It'll sort of grab you in your stomach. I don't know, that's as best as I can explain it—it's not as though I know how portkeys work, I just know that they do."

"So it's…it's like a portal?" Dudley said, his excitement slipping through into his voice.

"I'm not sure," Longbottom said, frowning. "I don't really know what you mean by portal, so I guess—"

He was interrupted by a small gasp from Petunia. "Is it meant to do that?" she said, pointing at the broken pan. It was glowing dully, tinged blue. Longbottom swore.

"Quick, quick, grab it, grab it!" he shouted, lunging towards the ground. When Dudley and Petunia hesitated, he uttered an inarticulate yelp and swung the pan up into the air. "Now, now!" he screamed.

Galvanized by Longbottom's obvious panic, the Dursleys both moved forward and stretched out their hands towards the pan. Their hands touched it at the same moment, but nothing happened. Longbottom continued to stare forcefully at the pan.

"On my count," he said without looking up, "hold tight and prepare for the lurch—and," he added, a touch ruefully, "you'll want to close your eyes. On my count, okay?" A moment later, it glowed brighter, suddenly a brilliant, bright blue. "Three, two, one!" Longbottom cried out.

Dudley squeezed his eyes shut at the same time as the ground beneath his feet gave a great heave and some force behind his stomach yanked him up and in, towards the pan but also somewhere else entirely. Dudley felt as he imagined a fish might, if instead of having the hook in its mouth the fish swallowed the hook and got it lodged in its stomach as it was towed against its will towards an unknown destination. He could feel air whizzing past him and considered opening his eyes to see where he was and what the inside of a portal looked like, but he didn't have the courage. Besides, he was having a hard enough time holding the contents of his stomach in place without the additional strain of forcing his unwilling lids open.

Just when it felt like he couldn't take another second of the portkey's tugging, the sensation ceased, and Dudley's feet slammed into the ground. The force of the impact made his knees buckle and give way beneath him, and some instinctual part of him reached out to steady his mother, who had stumbled forward several steps.

"Hi, Neville, glad you made it okay," a voice behind Dudley said. Still holding his mother, he turned to see a stocky, startlingly red-haired man in dark green robes leaning casually against a fence. Next to him was the most bizarre creature that Dudley had ever seen. It had the head and upper torso of what appeared to be a giant eagle, complete with wings tucked against its sides, and the back legs and hindquarters of a horse. It was lying down, its head resting on its large orange talons, but its eyes were open, staring at Dudley.

"Hey, Charlie, nice haircut. Your mum get to it again?" Longbottom asked, his voice cheerful but unsteady. He was on his feet beside Dudley, but he seemed a bit wobbly.

"Yeah, I don't know what her problem is with me leaving it long. She never does anything to Bill's," the redhead grumbled.

"Maybe she's figured that it's his wife's problem these days," Longbottom suggested.

"Maybe. You all right, Neville? You sound a bit off."

Longbottom shrugged. "I hate traveling by portkey. I'd rather floo, but Harry said that was a bad idea." He strode forward and bowed low to the horrid creature lying beside Charlie. It stood up, shaking out its wings as it did, and bowed in return. Longbottom put out a hand and patted its beak. "Good to see you too, Buckbeak."

"Careful, Neville, he's Witherwings in company," Charlie said. "This place is crawling with Ministry folk."

Longbottom chuckled. "Come on, Charlie, half your family's Ministry. Nobody even remembers Buckbeak's sentence anymore. Hagrid forgets to call him Witherwings half the time, anyway."

"Still, Hagrid asked me to look after him. I'd be doing a poor job of it if I let someone drag him away for being a Dangerous Creatures escapee, wouldn't I?"

While Longbottom and Charlie chatted, Dudley and Petunia regained their bearings. They were still in a field, but this one was different. It was on a sloping hillside overlooking a large green area. In the distance to his right, Dudley could see a small village on the banks of a river. To his left were more hills and fields and a single, multi-story house that looked to be in serious danger of toppling over. Beside the house was a large white tent, from which emanated the distant sounds of music and voices.

Charlie stuck out his hand to Dudley. "You must be Harry's cousin. I'm Charlie, Ginny's brother," he said.

Dudley shook the proffered hand gingerly. Charlie looked familiar, but Dudley couldn't quite place him. "Dudley Dursley," he said. "And this is my mother, Petunia. My cousin's—"

"Yeah, I know, Harry's aunt and cousin. He asked me to wait here to make sure Neville got you here okay. Had a safe trip, did you?"

"All right," Dudley answered, while Charlie shook Petunia's tentative hand.

"Portkey must've been a new experience for you, huh?"

"Uh, yeah, new," Dudley said.

Charlie laughed. "I'm guessing it's not your favorite mode of transport. Don't worry, though, it's perfectly safe. Anyway, we'd better get going. Not too long now until the ceremony, so we'd best be heading back to the Burrow. Neville, d'you mind leading the way? I've got to coax Witherwings."

"Bloody hell, Charlie, just call him Buckbeak. You know if he's discovered Kingsley will pardon him."

"It's not worth risking his life!" Charlie insisted.

Longbottom sighed and rolled his eyes, but he smiled kindly at the Dursleys. "Right, shall we, then?" he said. When neither Petunia nor Dudley responded, his smile wavered and he turned and walked off in the direction of the lopsided house, gesturing behind him for the others to follow. "This way."

Dudley and Petunia trekked behind Longbottom in silence. Every so often, Dudley had to give his mother a hand as her smart pumps sank into the soft, muddy ground. Their progress was slow, but the house wasn't as far away as it had looked, and they found themselves on the outskirts of what was a rather large party in the marquee. Before entering the shade of the tent, Longbottom turned back and smiled at the Dursleys.

"Right, well. This is it. Enjoy the wedding!" he said cheerily. Without another word, he disappeared into the throng of people within.

Petunia grabbed Dudley's elbow. "We should g-go in," she said, sounding unsure.

"Do we know anyone here?" Dudley wondered aloud.

"I don't know."

"D'you reckon Hestia or Dedalus will be here?"

"I-I suppose they could be?"

Silence fell between the mother and son as they both screwed up the courage to step into the crowd of strangers. Before they could properly steel themselves, someone came hurtling out of the crowd at them. She was a plain looking young woman in a lovely pale green dress, her thick brown hair pulled up into a fancy knot at the back of her head. She had an impatient look about her, and her eyes lit up when she spotted the Dursleys.

"Thank goodness you're here!" she called out, racing over. "Sorry we've never been properly introduced; I'm Hermione Granger, Harry's friend. Come with me, we've been waiting for you." She spoke quickly, the words tumbling out of her mouth like grains of rice being poured out of a bag, falling over one another before landing with a whisper of sound. After brusquely shaking both Dudley and Petunia's hands, she turned towards the crowd and stepped into it, expecting the Dursleys to follow. Petunia looped her arm tightly through Dudley's and clutched her handbag more securely. Dudley slipped his unoccupied hand into his trouser pocket, surreptitiously holding on to his wallet. Thus guarded, they followed after the abrupt Hermione Granger into the crowd of unfamiliar, strangely dressed wizards.

As they made their way squeezing between the closely packed people, Dudley became acutely aware of how much he and his mother stood out. Everyone else was wearing robes like those Longbottom wore, with a few scattered women wearing elegant gowns like Granger. Most of the men wore tall, pointed hats, as did some of the women, though theirs all had wider brims than the men's. Not one person was dressed in Piers Polkiss's "foolproff" combination of dark suit and light shirt, nor a calf-length dress with sensible heels.

Once through the crowd, Granger led the Dursleys to the back door of the poorly constructed house that Dudley had observed from the hill. "This is the Burrow, the Weasley's home," she explained. "Harry's here on the top floor getting ready in Ron's room." Even the unobservant Dudley couldn't fail to notice the flush on her cheeks when she said "Ron," and her hands moved unconsciously, her right hand twisting the sparkling ring on her left hand. "I know he'd like to see you before the ceremony. If you'd like, that is."

"Oh, we-we'd love to," Petunia said. Dudley thought her voice sounded flat, but he did his best not to react to that.

"Yeah, it'd feel weird coming all this way and then not, you know, see him, and all," Dudley agreed, hoping his tone was less false.

Granger cleared her throat and then led the way into the house. The small party passed through a kitchen whose every surface was covered in platters of food, and then a living room overcrowded with gift-wrapped boxes to a set of stairs. From somewhere not too far above came the sound of raised voices. As they climbed the stairs, it became evident that the voices were coming from behind a closed door on the first floor landing. Granger paused outside the door.

"Sorry," she slowly, grimacing over her shoulder at the Dursleys, "but I think I should go in to make certain that the bride and her mother both survive until the ceremony. Harry's at the top, though. Really, the room at the very top of the house. You can't miss it, it's a horrid orange color." She shuddered slightly as she said the words.

Dudley nodded. "Right, we'll just…" He waved nonchalantly up the stairs.

Granger smiled at him and then opened the door, stepping in. Before she swung the door shut behind her, Dudley caught a glimpse of a squat woman with red hair that was going white sobbing into a handkerchief, a blonde girl with a dreamy look on her face wearing a dress that matched Granger's, and the bride herself, a petite young woman with flaming red hair and wearing her wedding dress, the traditional white but shot through with gold.

"—be less nervous if you would dispel your obvious wrackspurt," the dreamy blonde was saying.

"For the last time, Luna, it's not a wrackspurt! It's my wedding day!" the bride responded, exasperated.

"It's not your mother's wedding day," the blonde countered.

"Oh, Luna," Granger sighed, entering the room. "It's her only daughter's wedding. Can we please forget about wrackspurts for one day?"

The rest of the conversation was muffled by the closing of the door. Dudley and Petunia quite suddenly found themselves alone on the first floor landing. They exchanged a glance, and Petunia opened her mouth as if to say something, but then she seemed to think better of it and began to climb the rest of the stairs.

The stairs felt like they would never end, and Petunia was wheezing slightly beside Dudley by the time they reached the top. There before them was a door that stood slightly ajar, through which they could, indeed, discern a vivid orange tint. Here, too, they could hear voices.

"You're sure it's a good idea for Grawp to be here?"

"You try telling Hagrid that his brother isn't invited to my wedding," a once-familiar voice responded with a trace of bitterness. The voice sighed. "Besides, Grawp saved—"

"Saved your life, yeah, mate, but so did Narcissa Malfoy and you didn't invite her."

"That's different. Grawp saved me and Hermione. From Umbridge. Come on, Ron, drop it. At least he didn't insist on bringing an honorary member of Aragog's family."

"Yeah, well, I think even Hagrid's a bit off them ever since they tried to eat him."

Dudley raised his hand to knock on the door, but he was distracted by the sound of hurried, small feet on the stairs. He turned just in time to see a little boy with turquoise hair hurtle up the last few steps and straight into Dudley's knees. Before Dudley or Petunia could say anything, the little boy had dodged around them and slipped through the gap in the doorway and into the room.

"Uncle Harry!" he squealed.

"Teddy! What've you done with your hair? You've got to leave it brown today, Teddy, or Gran Molly will kill me, okay?"

"I don't like it brown!"

"I know, kid, but it's just for today. When you go to sleep tonight, you can put it however you like. Brown, Teddy. Just for today. Let's go." This directive was followed by an exasperated sigh from the little boy. In the lull of conversation, Dudley drew up his courage and knocked on the door. "Now who do you reckon that is, Teddy? Come in!"

Petunia straightened her skirt, and Dudley fastened the top button on his jacket before pushing the door fully open. Inside the small, cramped room, were two men and the little boy who had just arrived, and whose hair was now a plain light brown. One of the men, tall, gangly, and red-haired, was sitting on the edge of the bed, his feet up on what looked like and empty fish tank that sat on the floor. He was long-nosed and freckled, and he grinned when he saw Dudley. The other man was the more familiar of the two. He was tall and slim, with messy jet black hair and bright green eyes behind round wire-rimmed glasses. And on his forehead was a thin red scar in the shape of a lightning bolt. He held the little boy in his arms comfortably, as if the child was a common fixture on his hip. His robes were a bottle green that drew out the color of his eyes and seemed the inspiration for the rest of the green theme that Dudley had seen on the wedding party. When he saw the Dursleys, the gentle smile on his face faltered and then faded, and he set little Teddy down on the floor, giving him a nudge towards the man on the bed.

"I see you made it okay," he said quietly. "Journey all right?"

"Oh, yes, er, a bit odd but perfectly comfortable," Petunia stammered. Dudley didn't say anything.

"Was Neville waiting for you?"

"Yes. Lovely."

An awkward silence fell across the room. Dudley glanced at Teddy, who was now perched on the other man's lap. He was looking curiously up at Petunia and Dudley while he idly swung his feet.

Harry Potter cleared his throat. "How are you, Dudley?"

Dudley slowly returned his gaze to his cousin. "I'm good, thanks. You?"

A smile flickered across Potter's face. "Pretty good. Hey, congratulations on your big win last month. I read about it in the paper," he said.

Dudley's eyebrows rose. "Oh, yeah, thanks. Yeah, it was cool." A thousand questions buzzed through Dudley's head, flitting in and out so quickly that he couldn't seize any long enough to ask it.

"Uh, Aunt Petunia, Dudley, you remember Ron, my best mate?" Potter asked, waving vaguely at the man on the bed. The man swung his legs off the tank and leaned forward to stretch out his hand to Dudley.

"I once came exploding out of your fireplace," he said as he shook Dudley's hand. "And I once drove a flying car to your house, ripped a set of bars off the window, and flew off with Harry. But it was dark that night, I don't know if you saw me."

"I was in bed," Dudley responded.

Potter cleared his throat again. "And this is Teddy Lupin, my godson," he continued, pointing to the little boy. "And my ring bearer, actually. Ron, you've got the rings still?"

"They haven't moved since the last time you asked, mate."

"Right, right. Teddy, come say hello to Aunt Petunia and Dudley."

Teddy slipped off of Ron's lap and approached Aunt Petunia. He looked at her quizzically. "Are you my auntie?" he asked.

"N-no, I'm—" Petunia began.

"She's my aunt, Teddy. Say hello."

"Hello," Teddy said. He held out his little hand at Potter's encouragement.

Petunia knelt slightly and shook his hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Teddy," she murmured. She stood and looked at Potter, frowning. "Are you really his uncle?"

"No, just his godfather. I try to spend a lot of time with him," Potter added softly, his smile gone and a ghost-like sadness in his eyes. "His parents were…were important to me. His dad was like a brother to my father, and his mum was also a close friend. So I try to keep close."

"Oh, they're…?" Petunia asked. Potter nodded jerkily.

"We've all lost people we love," he said. "So we've all stuck a bit closer together. The Weasleys didn't know Remus or Tonks—Teddy's parents—for very long, but Teddy spends nearly as much time with his Gran Molly as he does with his real grandmother, Andromeda."

While the adults conversed, Teddy moved on to hold his hand out to Dudley. "Hello," he said again.

Dudley knelt on one knee to reach Teddy and shook his hand. "How old are you?" he asked Teddy.

"Four!" the little boy said excitedly.

"Nice," Dudley responded. He paused, unsure what else to say.

Teddy, however, like most four-year-olds, was perfectly comfortable speaking whatever crossed his mind. "Are you a muggle?" he inquired sweetly.

"Teddy!" Potter said sharply. Ron snickered. "Teddy, we don't ask people that. It doesn't matter who's a muggle and who's a wizard, we treat everybody the same, politely and kindly."

"But is he a muggle, Uncle Harry?"

"Yeah," Dudley said, cutting off his cousin. "Yeah, we're both muggles."

"I know you're a muggle because you're not wearing robes," Teddy informed Dudley proudly. "But I like your clothes better. Robes are scratchy."

Dudley felt his lip twitch. "This suit's kind of scratchy too," he said.

"Oh," Teddy responded, and he sounded disappointed.

Potter scooped Teddy up and turned back to Petunia. "Thank you for coming," he said gravely. "It's…family's important, you know, and for all our differences we do share blood."

"Of course," Petunia said. She looked as uncomfortable as Potter sounded. Dudley stood up and held his hand out to his cousin, feeling slightly more at ease after his conversation with Teddy.

"Look, congratulations on your wedding, mate. We're glad we could be here." The words, to Dudley's own surprise, weren't even a lie.

Potter smiled as he shook Dudley's hand. "Thanks, Big D."