Chapter 11: Closure

The pneumatic doors hissed open onto a cacophony of sight and sound. Harry stepped out of the London Underground calmly, a hoodie pulled low over his head, and he tried to ignore the stimulatory overload that was everyday Muggle life happening around him.

He hadn't been in a proper populated environment in many months, with the one exception being the sprawling Battle in his old school that had had him and his best mates literally running for their lives at points. Chaos like this, even when controlled and passed off as life, now left him feeling a palpable unease. He wondered if he had developed a fear of crowds, from all his months in near-isolation in the wilderness. If so, it wouldn't exactly be the worst phobia in the world to have – unlike, say, Ron's fear of spiders, claustrophobia could be grounded in something rational. Healthy, even, at least for a certain personality type. He would have to ask Hermione her opinion on the subject in a letter, or wait until she came back.

Had it been up to him, he might have chosen a quieter setting. But he couldn't exactly blame Daedulus for thinking like an Auror in concluding that a nondescript meeting was best served in a busy area, out in the open.

Harry weaved through the crowds of people going about their daily business, keeping his head low. One thing that would take quite a while to shake was the feeling of constantly looking over his shoulder, like the fugitive he had been. He remembered disappearing into Chaunstbury avenue with Ron and Hermione immediately after fleeing Bill and Fleur's wedding, thinking they had done a good job clearing their tracks when Disapparating into the ether….

He came to a halt in front one of those small cafes that tended to be popular down in these tube stations, remembering too, the last time he had been in one of these. He finished his previous thought: …. and, yet, the first time he and his mates had taken a pause to rest for a cuppa, they had gotten into a blast-fight against Doloholv and Rowle, complete with wands and nearly in front of a Muggle waitress! Harry absently felt for his wand in his back pocket. Not as though he thought he would have cause to use it.

He pushed into the dingy café, eyes cast to the grimy floor, as he cast his memory back even further. The time before the last time he had been in a café, there had been that flirty waitress who had actually seen him reading a wizarding newspaper. But she hadn't been shocked the way most Muggles would be at the sight of still photographs moving. The bird had been flirtatious, even offering to take him out after her shift. Harry chuckled. That had been close to two years ago, and Dumbledore of all people had managed to bollocks that potential date up.

Harry lifted his head, scanning. To his shock, his gaze actually swept over the man once before he realized it was him.

He had to concur, at least in part, with Ginny: thank Merlin for beans in a tin.

He had never, at any point in his entire life, seen Dudley look so slim. It made the bastard look almost handsome, and Harry was surprised at the feeling of basking in someone else's happiness that overtook him just then. He wasn't in the business of fat shaming, but he hoped that Dudley after losing all that weight could keep it off.

A waitress was at the head of their table, taking their order, and also blocking from Harry's sightline whoever was sitting across from Dudley. His cousin hadn't seen him. Good.

Harry moved through this zoo of a café and managed to get right behind his cousin's chair. The waitress was finishing taking the order.

"Ask her for her number, why don't you, mate? Don't let her get away!"

Harry smirked at how the waitress paused in her scribbling long enough to blush rosy pink. His smirk widened further still at how Dudley jumped at the sound of the voice.

"See here! Bugger off, you cad, unless you want to ask her your…." Dudley's voice trailed off in the middle of jolting to his feet as Harry pulled back the hood on his sweatshirt. "….self….."

Harry's grin was now positively cat-like. "Hey, Big D."

A beat as the cousins just stared at each other. Then:

"You look like shite. If you're trying to pull off the gangster ensemble, it's not working, lad."

Harry actually grinned, surprised with himself so far at how he was approaching this reunion. "Maybe because I learned that look from you. And for the record, so do you. Look like shite!" He made an appraising sweep of the clothes hanging off Dudley's gangly frame, clothes that would have been worn by his more rotund self. Clearly, he hadn't been out of protective custody long enough to go on a decent shopping spree. Green eyes casting about, they finally landed on the waitress, who was watching the exchange with interest. "If I were you, I'd run, love. You won't get nothing but grief from this one!"

He had meant to say it in jest, and yet Dudley's face fell, as if his feelings had been hurt. The waitress's lips pursed as though she was debating whether to frown or fight off a smile.

"Anything for the gangster?" she spoke quietly, her tone coming off amused.

"Coffee, please and thank you. Black." Harry pulled out a chair from the table behind him and straddled it backwards off the corner, next to Dudley. The waitress bustled away.

Harry was just turning to take in good and proper the cousin he hadn't seen in nearly twelve months when a sharp command cut through the air:

"Harry James Potter, sit in your chair like a proper gentleman! I raised you better than that!"

He froze, keeping his face arranged into something passively neutral. It took everything in him not to utter the reflexive phrase of 'Yes, ma'am' that, as a little boy, he would have said immediately upon hearing such an order. Even so, he rose just enough to reverse the chair and sit in it, like a 'proper gentleman', as it were.

He could see Dudley looking past him, and Harry followed his cousin's gaze. If the bloke hadn't yet had any time to shop about for a better outfit, then Petunia had at least managed to put something presentable together.

Harry's aunt cradled her clutch to her chest, eyeing Harry nervously. She appeared older than the last time he had seen her, and Harry was uncertain whether he should feel smug or sorry for her.

He tried for a bit of levity, keeping the bit with the waitress going. "Easy there, auntie. The bird called me a gangster, not a purse snatcher!"

"And yet you look like one," Petunia sniffed. She cast her eyes down into her lap, muttering something about how she never would have sent her nephew out in public dressed like that, thank you very much…. Next to Harry, Dudley was wincing.

Harry peered at Petunia curiously. "You know, Aunt Petunia, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you cared."

He wasn't sure if he himself even meant these words, but they cut her to the quick anyway, for how sharply she glanced up. It was as if she was aware, on some level, that 'caring' was far from an accurate descriptor of her and her past treatment of her nephew.

The three regarded each other around this café table nervously, sizing each other up. It took only a second for Harry to register: no sign of Vernon, unless the bloating balloon was coming back from some dingy washroom.

"What, no galloping whale, then? Hmm – maybe this meeting will actually be civil…" Harry mused aloud.

Petunia pursed her lips tightly, but said nothing. Dudley actually wrestled down a snort, then cast his eyes longways at Harry, biting his own lip. In the interim, the pretty waitress returned with their drinks. Dudley lifted his own coffee, then caught sight of the folded piece of paper underneath it. He unfurled it, perhaps thinking it was the bill already.

"What service…." Harry muttered, casting an appreciative glance back over his shoulder to where their server was melting back into the crowd.

In silent answer, Dudley flashed him the paper, and the telephone number written on it.

"Think she mixed up our drinks. This meant for you?"

"Don't be daft!" Harry scoffed, though he was actually grinning. "Bravo, lad! Good show!"

Dudley now found the linoleum of the table quite interesting, embarrassed.

"You can cut the easy-going bravado act, you know," he spoke up, much quieter.

Harry blinked, then nodded slowly. Maybe his cavalier cad demeanor was acting as a front, trying to diffuse the tension, as Fred had once said. Or delay the inevitable. He hunched over the table, ignoring his coffee, glancing between his cousin and aunt.

"I was surprised to get Daedalus' owl about you requesting a meeting." He almost asked which one of them had done it, then decided there was no point. He traced his fingers over the tabletop. "How…. how are you?"

"As good as can be expected," Petunia spoke up, voice soft. "We've been above-ground for a couple of weeks, actually, busy getting our affairs in order."

"So you saved shopping for Dudley for last then, eh?" Harry nodded to the baggy jeans and T-shirt hanging off his cousin's now-lean frame. It was a wonder that waitress had seen far enough past the hobo ensemble to leave Dudley her number. At Petunia's silence, Harry decided he'd jolly well better drop the wise-ass routine. He cleared his throat. "What about the house?"

"Re-possessed. After all the back taxes we left unpaid over this last year, the government took it over."

Harry was surprised at how much sadness this news brought him. He actually felt his heart sink. Number Four, Privet Drive was gone. Uncle Vernon had turned out to actually be right, in his mad, conspiracy-theory ramblings about how Voldemort's war was just a plot to get the house. The house had been seized, all right – just by the Muggle government, not the then-insurgent, fascist magical one.

"So…. you're shopping for real estate, then?"

Dudley nodded.

Harry's mind raced. Well, he jolly didn't want his relatives to come and stay with him – Ginny would strongly object, and possibly Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, too. The house would only get full enough as it was once Ron and Hermione returned, provided that there was room for two prospective Weasley daughters-in-law between his best mate and Audrey.

The thought of Hermione made him briefly entertain the thought of directing the Durselys to her parents' place in Hampstead, currently sitting empty. They could crash there, even if for just a couple of weeks, but…. no. That wouldn't be fair to Hermione. Grimmauld Place? He wasn't using it currently, but the thought of how his relatives and Kreacher would react to each other had Harry dismissing this, too, out of hand.

Ginny would be appalled if she were here right now, watching him rack his brain for ways to actually help them. He elected to say nothing beyond, "I'll keep my eyes open, yeah?"

Petunia blinked in surprise at this, then nodded gratefully.

"We're in a hotel at the moment!" Dudley offered up. "Just till we find our feet."

They were paying full price for a hotel room long-term? Vernon was probably just loving that, the cheap son-of-a-bitch!

"What about you?" Dudley piped up again, and Harry swiveled his head to him almost disinterestedly. "You…. you survived."

He nodded. "I did."

"That loony what was after you, then? He's…."

"….. dead," Harry clipped coolly. Dudley's eyes widened, almost as if he was impressed.

"Blimey….. So now you're an axe murderer, too?"

The image of him attempting to take Voldemort down with a fire ax actually made Harry chuckle. "Hardly. But…. I did kill him, yes. Voldemort." He slouched back in his chair, remembered his aunt's chiding remark, then straightened again. "I've been living on the edge too, you know, up until fairly recently. Tents, beans in a tin, the whole she-bang…."

"How did you do it?" Dudley stared at his cousin.

Harry chuckled awkwardly. "What defeat Vol…?"

"No, no, eat beans from a tin."

Harry smirked. "Calm down now, Big D. Eating beans from a tin builds character…" He checked him once over. "…. and perhaps a bit of muscle."

"You can't have had it as hard as we did…" Petunia bemoaned, scoffing.

Abruptly, Harry felt his temper flare at her comment. "And just jolly where were you the last seventeen years?!"

Petunia stuttered into silence, eyes big as moons.

"I'd daresay I did have it as hard as you guys did, except I lived through seventeen summers of it, not just one year! If that's the best revenge, I suppose I'll have to take it!"

Here they were. Finally they had reached the reason for this meeting, or at least Harry's reason for the meeting. To lay it all out on the table. Air all the dirty laundry, if not clear the air itself. Dudley was now folded into himself, eyeing Harry nervously.

"Were…. Were you hoping for better? Revenge, I mean."

Harry studied Dudley for a moment. "My girlfriend's idea of it would have been to leave you three to your fates. Let the Death Eaters have you." He was satisfied that at this, Dudley whimpered. "But that wouldn't have been practical, and…"

"You have a girl?" Petunia whispered softly.

Bemused, Harry nodded slowly.

"I have a home." He let the word and all it implied, at least in regards to these people, hang in the air. "And someone who loves me."

"Please tell me it's not the bushy-haired girl with the buck teeth."

Harry felt his fingers close around his wand in the back pocket of his jeans – when it came to Hermione, going for his weapon had always been a protective instinct for him, Ron even more so. "She hasn't any buck teeth. And anyway, no. My girl, my…. Ginny, she's…. well, she reminds me a lot of my mum, in some ways." He stared at Petunia deliberately while he said this. He thought he saw something like sadness and even pain flicker in her eyes.

"So now you have an Oedipus complex. Jolly good show, indeed!" Dudley attempted to break the tension.

"And how many girls have you picked up without my help?" Harry quipped. Dudley glanced askance and coughed once.

Harry sighed and studied his reflection in the tabletop. "What I really want to know is…. why?" He lifted his head to ponder Petunia. "Why did you do it? All the abuse and the neglect. Dumbledore was right: you didn't do as he asked. You never treated me like a son. All I wanted, all I needed was a home, and when you didn't do the decent thing and give me one, I had to look elsewhere to find it! Why? In the name of your sister, why did it have to be that way?"

Petunia couldn't look at him, and Harry was starting to get worked up enough that he almost demanded that she did. Face what she had done like an adult.

Just when Harry thought she wasn't going to answer, she whispered, "I was afraid."

"Of me?" Harry's eyes widened. He almost snorted. "I think I've worked that out for myself by now…"

"No. Not entirely." And now Petunia looked him square in the eye. "Of your uncle."

"Vernon?" Harry glanced to Dudley, only to find him nodding. A long pause. "That's…. that's your excuse? You turned to child abuse because Vernon told you to?"

"For God sake's, Potter, did it ever occur to you that we might have been just as scared of Dad as you were?" Dudley blasted out.

"What for? Were you scared he was going to end up burying you in presents that you never used?" Harry jabbed, recalling bitterly all the Christmases that Dudley had ended up with enough presents for all of Privet Drive while he, Harry, had ended up with close to nothing.

"Vernon was terrified of you, and your magic. He didn't understand it, so he thought we could stamp it out of you. If we held you down, maybe you would never learn about your power, so that…."

"…. So that what?" Harry eyed Petunia hard. "I would never fight back?" She slowly nodded. He felt hot moisture pooling at the back of his eyes but refrained from wiping at them. He refused to cry in front of these people. He refused.

So it shocked him to observe just how close Petunia was to crying herself. It shook Harry that for once in her life, she might be telling the truth. "Vernon ruled by fear in our house. You know that better than anyone. He told me what would happen if we didn't try to keep you from my sister's world, so I went along with it all. The chores, and the… the…." She bowed her head.

Harry gazed at her, bewildered. He thought back to Snape's memories he had seen in the Pensieve, and how a lot of the hatred Petunia had professed for her sister had actually come from somewhere deep, and even logical, barking as it sounded. Harry knew, had learned often from this very woman, what it felt like to be left out. He now understood how Petunia had been too.

"I know you were devastated when you weren't accepted into Hogwarts." Petunia lifted her head in disbelief, having gone white.

"How…. how did you….?"

"I just do," Harry cut across her, deciding not to bother and explain how a Pensieve worked. A beat, and then…. he thought better of it. "There's a…. magical bowl that can allow you to see into someone else's memories." He was almost amused at the wonder he saw gathering behind his aunt's eyes, and it compelled him to continue extending this olive branch of sorts. "I know about you, and Snape and my mother."

She appeared shocked. "That Severus bloke? Gracious, I hope you never encountered the likes of him! He was a wanker! Thank heavens that my Lily never married a bloke like that!"

Hearing his prim and proper aunt use a term like wanker almost made Harry ruin the gravitas of the moment, as he fought to keep from cracking up.

"He was my professor, and…" Harry shook his head. He exhaled deeply through his nose. "I wish you had just told me these things, Aunt Petunia. I would have been resentful, but it would have explained a lot of why you treated me the way you did, and, maybe I would have…. well, not understood, but…." He faltered.

"Why would you? Why should you?" Petunia queried. "I was insecure, and I was grieving my sister and instead of dealing with those feelings myself, I took it out on you. We all did."

"And I followed along, because it was what was being shown to me," Dudley offered up his own mea culpa. "You have to be carefully taught to hate, you know." And Harry's curious glance, the former bully blushed. "Didn't have much of a record collection down in that bunker. But beggars can hardly be choosers."

Harry inwardly chuckled at the thought of the Dursleys sitting with Daedalus Diggle and listening to nothing but South Pacific for months on end. It no doubt would have been better torture than the kind Ginny had fantasized for them.

"…. I'm sorry."

He nearly fell out of his stupid little chair. "What did you say?"

Petunia swallowed hard. "I'm sorry!"

A long moment, and Harry slowly grinned. "I heard you the first time, auntie. I just wanted to hear you say it again."

An awkward beat.

"For the record, so am I!" Dudley threw out his own sixpence.

Harry cracked a smirk. "I figured. Otherwise why else were you passing me cups and saucers of tea last summer?"

Dudley bowed his head, looking ashamed. "I know, it's not enough, but…."

Harry marveled at him. "Bloody hell, Big D – Dudley…." He corrected himself. "Those Dementors did blow a different personality into you!"

Dudley smiled weakly. "There are probably worse ways to change."

"I'm sure. Eating beans out of a tin, for one thing!" They actually shared a laugh. Harry folded his arms, his head swimming. For lack of anything to say, he floated:

"Uncle Vernon doesn't know you lot are here…. does he?"

"No. We told him we were going shopping."

"Good," Harry cast a glance at Dudley's two-sizes-too-large outfit yet again. "Best hop to it, then! You'll have some decent outfits to try on when you get back to your hotel and room service."

They must have thought he meant something snarky by that comment, for Dudley piped up, "I should have given you my spare bedroom a lot earlier." As if he was apologizing for the cupboard under the stairs.

"Yeah. You should have. You should have done a lot of things." He rose. "But that's all over now."

"Where are you going?" Dudley asked.

"Have to head back to my work training program."

"What do you do?" Petunia asked mildly.

"I'm, er…. training to be a wizard copper, as it were," Harry fumbled awkwardly. He tried to recall a time when Petunia had asked him about himself or been interested in his life, but found none.

"Wicked," Dudley breathed.

"Yeah," Harry nodded, lingering awkwardly. "Um. Well…. I guess this is really goodbye, then." He started to turn away.

"Harry?"

He froze at the sound of his cousin calling his name.

"…. Will…. will we ever see you again?"

He weighed this, carefully. The pause must have disconcerted Dudley for he now threw out:

"You could write to us, at least! Christmas card terms?"

Harry glanced back, then nodded slowly. "Yeah. I'd…. I'd like that. On one condition:"

Dudley blinked expectantly.

"Don't go telling Vernon….. because I never want to see him again!" Dudley and Petunia nodded slowly. "You two on the other hand…." He started to move towards the door, then allowed himself one last look.

"…. I forgive you."

He slipped out of the café without waiting to gauge their reaction, stalking for the tube just pulling into the station. As he boarded, he turned so that he got a view looking directly into the café's window across the way: Dudley was now at the counter, chatting up the waitress who had dropped him her number.

He allowed himself one cleansing grin, the upturn of his lips bittersweet.

The doors to the tube closed.

That evening, Harry staggered into the Burrow's front kitchen, physically and emotionally drained. Lifting his head to take in the sight of his Ginny in a nightgown, waiting dutifully up for him, drinking in her loveliness was all it took for him to burst into tears.

She flew into his arms, clutching at him, holding him close as he wept onto her shoulder.

"I'm…. I'm so…. awed by you," she breathed. "How you even managed to face down those…."

Harry shook his head, drawing back. "Leave it, love. It's…. it's over."

"That's it? You're not at least going to tell me what they had to bloody say for themselves?!" his girlfriend demanded, incensed on his behalf.

"They had their reasons. My aunt and cousin."

Ginny gawped at him in disbelief. "For turning you into a slave and slapping you round?!"

Harry nodded, taking her hands in his and guiding her into a chair. Sitting across from her, he explained everything. He was proud of Ginny for how she quietly listened, even if her expression was still one of skepticism.

"And your uncle? What was his excuse?"

Harry shook his head. "Coward didn't show, but if he had, his excuse would have been hatred. An arrogant fellow like that wouldn't repent, Ginny – he wouldn't know how. Vernon was a small, ignorant, insecure mouse of a man who never cared to understand people who aren't like him. He worked his influence on Petunia and Dudley and they were terrified enough of him too that they followed along."

Ginny snorted bitterly. "That doesn't make what any of them did right. It doesn't absolve…"

"No. It doesn't. But I've forgiven Petunia and Dudley for it, at least." He stared down at their clapsed hands, then chuckled to himself.

"What….?" Ginny studied him.

"I was just thinking. How…. you can learn lessons from those who set a good example, but you can also learn lessons from those who set a bad example, too. Like, how not to parent, for instance. There's… there's value in both."

Ginny stared at him, stunned. Then, she leaned out of her chair and embraced him.

"I love you," she murmured sincerely, drawing back to peer into his eyes. "I might not understand why you would be such a bigger person, but…. I love you for it."

Harry nodded slowly, exhausted.

"Will you ever see them again?" Ginny asked, though from the sharp look in her blue eyes, Harry knew she would dance a jig if he told her No.

"Well….. let's put it this way: if and when we ever get married, you'll have to be OK with sending my aunt and cousin a Christmas card in the post."

He almost chortled at how disappointed she looked at even just this, stewing. "….. Fine," she ground out at last.

Harry smiled. "There's a good girl. But don't worry: I want nothing to do with Uncle Vernon any longer. He's unredeemable. But Petunia and Dudley…. They've shown they might have a chance."

Exhaling heavily, Ginny rose, holding out her hands to him. "Come on. Come to bed, love."

Harry pondered her outstretched palm. Then he rose, nudged it aside, in favor of lifting Ginny out from under her knees and carrying her grandly towards the staircase.

"Harry!" She laughed. "What are you….. – Hmmmmmmm….."

He kissed her, long and lingering and deep and overflowing with gratitude for her, and flinging her arms about his neck, Ginny sank into the embrace and for once allowed herself to be carried off.