Two days later, having failed to develop any sufficiently remarkable symptoms from his son's potion that would allow him to ditch tea with his cousin, Harry strolled up the utterly ordinary walkway of Dudley's unbearably ordinary house.
"You're-here-hi-Harry-right-come-in," Dudley's words tumbled out of his mouth as he ran a large, careless hand through his close-cropped blond hair and ushered Harry inside. He hadn't seen his cousin in months and Harry could swear it looked like Dudley had lost a bit of weight. He also looked like he hadn't slept in a couple of days.
Buoyed by the absence of his Uncle Vernon's ostentatious car in the driveway, Harry ventured casually, "So, who else is joining us for tea?"
"Oh no one, it's just us," his cousin answered nervously. "Linda is out of town this weekend—a uni friend's hen do up in Edinburgh."
"Um, well, that's…nice," Harry replied brightly. Actually, it was very nice. It is said that men marry their mothers and while Dudley's wife was no Petunia, Linda's shrill voice and short temper were enough to make Harry relieved to be spared her presence.
"Yeah," observed Dudley as he poured boiling water into a couple of mugs. "Just us…and, er, Daisy, of course."
"Yes, of course—how is Daisy?" Harry asked, his green eyes darting around for Dudley's four-year-old daughter, the child Ginny had privately dubbed Daisy the Destroyer. The last time Harry's family had been over, for Daisy's fourth birthday, the girl had thrown cake at her cousin James, hidden a garden snake in Albus Severus' backpack and had an epic meltdown when Linda cut her off after her third glass of sugary punch. To be fair, Albus Severus ended up making a pet of the snake and naming it Nigel; nevertheless, Daisy was a spoiled, aggressive, unpleasant child.
"Well, actually," Dudley began, before being interrupted by the subtle but clear notes of "London Bridge Is Falling Down" floating down and filling the room. Both men's eyes were automatically drawn upward as the grating recorded music settled around them. Dudley gulped softly. He seemed on edge but not surprised. "She must be up from her nap," the large man observed. "Come on, Harry," he said, putting his mug down and heading for the stairs.
Harry followed, silently cursing his luck that he arrived right as Daisy was waking up, but hopeful that Dudley would soon be shutting off whatever toy was generating the annoying song.
But first, the music only grew louder as they approached Daisy's room. Her father grasped the doorknob and paused. He studied the door for a moment before turning to Harry, his eyes lost and pleading. He signaled to Harry to be silent as he quietly opened the door.
Daisy, still clad in pink flowered pyjamas from her nap, sat in the middle of her room, her back to the door. Her blonde hair, the same shade as Petunia's, hung down her back, tangled from sleep. Her chubby toddler fists were raised shoulder height, her body still and rigid in concentration while a stuffed unicorn, two squishy chickens, a plush giraffe and, the source of the song, a tweed-clad teddy bear, slowly circled her overhead, a good four feet off the floor.