7 August 2008.

Dudley Dursley, age 28, pulled into the parking lot for a rehearsal dinner. Piers Polkiss was getting married, and Dudley was a groomsman.

It was sweltering, and Dudley was on his third shirt of the day. He was wearing his suit trousers but planned to wait until the last possible moment to put on his jacket. He looked around. No one was looking, and if they did, it wouldn't matter anyway. He changed into a new undershirt, buttoned up his shirt, and tied a half-Windsor knot. Piers had wanted them all to wear black, skinny ties to every wedding event. Dudley thought the ties didn't look so great on his huge frame, but who was he to argue with the groom? Just tell me what to wear and where to show up, he'd said. He walked over to the restaurant, sunglasses on, jacket flipped over his shoulder.

A beautiful woman was pacing outside the building. Her numerous, twisting braids were piled up on her head in a massive bun, and she was fanning herself with her clipboard while looking at her watch. Dudley was glad he'd put on his tie. It made him look less like the recently laid-off video game tester that he was and more like a...well...a man with a job requiring a tie.

She whipped her head around to stare up at him.

Dudley was used to stares. He'd been heavyweight champion of Southeast England at age fifteen. He'd had three major growth spurts since then. And he'd kept up with boxing.

"You the bouncer?" she asked. "You're late. So's the damn D.J., but you're more important at the moment."

Dudley froze. Her dark brown eyes pierced him to the very soul. Was he the bouncer?

Suddenly, and with deep certainty, he realized he was. If this woman told him to toss someone out on the street, he'd do it, without question. Pay or no pay. License or no license. Tonight and for the rest of his life.

"Anyone causes trouble," he said, "I'll throw him right out."

"Well, get in, yeah? This crowd's a rowdy bunch, and they've only just started cocktail hour."

Dudley hurried inside and found a spot where he could see most of the crowd. The place was done up like a casino, with posters of Vegas and Baccarat and slot machines. It was to go with the "8-8-8" theme, Piers had said.

Piers was talking to his future mother-in-law, and his back was turned. Dudley was supposed to go up to his friend and greet him, but instead, he put on his jacket and stood next to the wall, looking out at the crowd. He put on his Bluetooth for good measure. The bartender gave him a wave, and he nodded back.

He realized he had no plan. Stand next to a wall? To what, get her number for future gigs as an unlicensed security consultant?

Then again, he'd been standing next to walls (to be out of the way) and intimidating people (whether he wanted to or not) for most of his life. So he wasn't exactly tricking anyone, he thought, as he straightened his shoulders and put his weight evenly on his feet. Just momentarily delaying greeting his friend.

He needed a new job, anyway.

Of course, the real bouncer arrived a few moments later. He and the beautiful woman – more gorgeous than beautiful, Dudley thought – marched up to the fake one. She radiated annoyance.

"I've hired one bouncer, not two," she said, "and I'm not going overbudget, so you'll have to just work it out between the two of you who gets the job." She glared at the real bouncer, a man with short brown hair who was half a head shorter than Dudley. Dudley thought with some happiness that he could probably bench a good fifty pounds more than the real bouncer. Maybe sixty pounds.

"Who are you?" the real bouncer asked. "You're not with Sean's Security."

Dudley decided to come clean. "Sorry, no, I'm a groomsman, actually," Dudley said. "Just, I wanted to help out," he told the gorgeous woman. "No offense, mate," he told the bouncer, who scowled at him.

"We're not mates," he said. "Just … get going and let me do my job, alright?"

Dudley held up his hands, palm up. Although outwardly placating, inwardly, he imagined grabbing the arrogant berk by his shirt, hoisting him off the floor, and tossing him out into the night. "Sorry again," he said. "Didn't mean to overstep."

He smiled and shrugged at the woman, who gave him a perplexed look, and said, "Well, go enjoy the party, then. I mean, welcome. Of course." She gestured at the bar. "Open bar. The bride and groom have designed a special cocktail for the occasion. Please, enjoy. And – my apologies for making assumptions."

Dudley grinned. "It's alright – maybe I should take up a new line of work."

The real bouncer grimaced in irritation. "More to it than being big, mate."

On the one hand, Dudley couldn't blame the bouncer for being protective of his job in the deepening fiscal crisis. On the other hand, he'd dearly love to let his fists do the talking.

Walk away, Dursley, he told himself. Don't want to get blood spatter on the nice lady. Bad enough you're unemployed – no need to throw in an arrest.

"Big D!" Piers yelled, throwing up a high five. "You made it! I see you've met Nicole – she's the one making the magic happen. Just do what she says, and you'll be alright. Come on, let's get you a COCKTAAAAIILLLL! It's got eight ingredients – guess them right, and you'll win a bottle opener WITH our faces on it."

Relieved, Dudley walked away from the irritable bouncer. "That's more of a punishment than a prize, with your face on it." So her name's Nicole. He stretched his neck to see the storage area behind the bar. "Let's see – looks like you've stocked up on Cointreau, Framboise - ugh, agave, strawberry cordial –" he held Piers off, who was trying to block his vision "—vodka, and – what's that, Red Bull? I can tell that's your contribution. What else does he have back there? Pineapple squash? You're sick, you are." He stood up on his toes, using Piers as a balance. "Let's see, one more ingredient and I win the prize."

"He's cheating!" Piers yelled. "Cheating! Nicole, do NOT give him the prize."

Dudley sneaked a glance at Nicole. She was grinning and shaking her head. Her grin was perfect.

Jackpot.

1 September 1997.

It was late afternoon, and neither Dedalus nor Hestia had returned. Vernon was humming under his breath, which he only did when he was really pleased about something. Dudley wasn't sure if it was happiness at having the house to themselves - after weeks of sharing with strangers - or if he was just thrilled about their plan.

Petunia was out picking flowers from the meadow around the home. She already had a cake in the oven.

Dudley was practicing his line. He ran it through his head again. "We want to HELP win the war." "We want to help WIN the war." "We WANT to help win the war."

The sun was dipping down behind the hills when Hestia arrived. She had a cut on her cheek, and her black hair was disheveled. She looked around in concern. "Where's Dedalus?"

Petunia's cake had already cooled on the wire rack, and she'd got the icing ready. She looked up from her mixing bowl, and said, "He went out. He said to tell you not to worry." She set down the icing-coated knife and put her finger on her chin. "Poor Dedalus was quite upset over the morning paper and wanted to talk with someone. Who was it? Can you remember, dear?"

Vernon puffed up and furrowed his brow. "Abe, I think it was? He said he wanted a drink."

Hestia's eyes darted back and forth around the room, as if Abe and Dedalus would reveal themselves in one of the corners. "He's supposed to stay put! We have to guard you, not go out for drinks just because of…"

She brushed at her cheek with her wrist, and looked down, startled at the smear of blood.

"You're injured! Good heavens, let me find some bandages." Petunia began searching drawers and cupboards, despite knowing most of them were empty.

Hestia shook her head. "No – no, that's not necessary." She waved her wand at her face, and the cut closed, and the blood siphoned away. She exhaled.

"Dedalus said he was worried a message could be overheard?" Petunia continued.

Dudley nudged the Prophet toward Hestia. She glanced at Snape's glowering photo, and said, "Yes – I've been dealing with that most of the day. Diagon Alley was full of escapees from Hogwarts, and the Ministry sent a squad of Aurors to try to round them all up. I was darting in and out of stores clearing the way for the kids to reach the Floos." She stopped abruptly. "But you don't want to hear all this."

Petunia crossed in from the kitchen to pat the witch's hand. "Go ahead. It's important."

Dudley held his breath.

"We've – been thinking." Petunia continued. "About everything. About what you're trying to do."

Vernon stopped adjusting the pitcher of flowers on the mantelpiece and took a seat. "Yes. We. We. Want you to know we care. About the war."

Hestia held her cup halfway to her lips, staring at them both.

"It isn't easy," Petunia said, "being away from our home, and missing our lives."

"But." Vernon said. "There's a war on. Sacrifices must be made."

It was Dudley's cue. His mouth was dry. This was nothing like sucking up to Mr. and Mrs. Mason. He managed to get out, "We want. To help win. The war." He felt the hated surge of heat in his forehead and cheeks, turning him once again into a tomato-faced giant.

Her eyes bright, Hestia set down her cup.

"So please," Petunia said, "go on. Tell us what's happening."

Hestia nodded. "Well, as you may guess, there's a lot The Prophet is leaving out. There was a massive row at King's Cross Station — the news about the new Headmaster leaked from some of the Slytherins, and most of the other students refused to board the train. Then, today, a crowd of parents showed up at the gates of Hogwarts to fetch their children back home, and the Ministry sent a squad of Aurors to stop their parents from fetching them."

She ran her hand through her hair. "The whole month has been a debacle for the Ministry. They ordered all Half-blood and Pureblood children to go to Hogwarts, but they've had a nightmare trying to enforce that. There were several children who've never gone to Hogwarts, if you can fathom it – their families taught them at home – and while some of them couldn't stand Dumbledore, there were plenty more who wanted nothing to do with this new scheme. There was fighting in Godric's Hollow and Mould-on-the-Wold, and some of the parents are awaiting trial. Then there's the families who send their kids abroad – Beauxbatons is in France, Durmstrang is – actually, I'm not sure where it is – they're cagy about its location – and there are several tiny, independent schools all over the continent. Most of those families just ignored the ruling, but the Ministry sent ambassadors out to the schools – thugs, really - demanding they cooperate. Durmstrang has already sent their British students packing – no surprise there - but Beauxbatons is holding out, saying they don't recognize the Ministry's authority to expel their students. As for the smaller schools, well – they're so secretive, I think the Ministry's not even sure how many British children attend, or where they are."

Dudley poured a cup of tea, mixed in some milk and three sugars, and set it down for the witch.

"Thanks, Dudley," she said. "Anyway. The Floo network's being monitored, of course, but it's only helpful to monitor the Floos that are used once or twice a day. The Ministry can see that a Floo's been used, but they can't tell who's traveling. So, while Snape was dealing with the crowd at Hogwarts, some of the kids boated across the lake to Hogsmeade Station and Floo'd from Hogsmeade to Diagon Alley. Those are used so many times a day, the Ministry didn't even think twice about it. From Diagon Alley, the older ones were able to Apparate themselves, and some had already arranged for someone to Side-Along Apparate them back home. It was a good idea – but not all of the escapees had figured out how to get out of Diagon Alley. I was hiding students off and on all day in between owl cages. All the kids I could find were safely away, when Bill Weasley – he's one of our group - stopped in to see how we were faring."

She paused and took a sip. Dudley sneaked a glance at his father, whose frozen smile was plastered to his face. Vernon wasn't having an easy time tolerating all the magical lingo.

"Bill was just telling me about setting another safe location to hide fugitives from Voldemort's puppet Ministry," she took a shuddering breath, "when three Death Eaters Apparated right into the shop!"

She looked up, bewildered. "I'd Warded the shop while I talked with Bill. They shouldn't have even been able to see the shop, but in they came, blasting everything in sight. Bill took out two of them – the idiots got in each other's way - and I managed to Stun the other and came here as soon as I could release all the owls and get them flying off safely."

"So brave," Petunia said, patting her shoulder. "And you helped all the children get away?"

"For now. The Ministry will get their names from Snape, and they'll go after them. They've got Snatchers now, hunting people down like rats."

Vernon brushed his mustache. "Hmm. Hmm. When you say this Bill "Took out," the – er – baddies - you mean – killed?"

She flushed. "No! Of course not. He tripped the one and knocked the other over the head with an empty owl cage, and then tied them up."

Vernon drummed his fingers on the table. "But, they'll soon be free, once the others find them. Free to attack again."

"The Ministry –" she stopped. "Well. No, this Ministry won't be arresting them. Hm."

Dedalus walked through the front door, greatly disheveled. "Well!" he said. "I HAVE had a time!"

"Dedalus!" Petunia cried with delight. "SO happy to see you! We were just having a spot of tea. I've got a nice dinner ready for all of us. You sit down and tell us all about it."

Dedalus' story was much the same as Hestia's. Over bites of chicken and potatoes, he told them about how Abe and he had used the Hogshead as a point on the escape route, and furthermore, alerted several of the families of the need to create a continued distraction at Hogwarts. They'd also alerted Remus, who had been able to help Dedalus win one of the fights with Snatchers in Hogsmeade.

Vernon kept his plastered grin, but occasionally shuddered. Dudley managed to get out his line again, and Dedalus said, "Of COURSE you want to help, dear boy! Of COURSE you do! I never for a moment doubted it! And just by being kind, and cooperating, and hiding well, you're doing your bit!"

Like Hestia and Bill, Dedalus and Abe hadn't killed anyone.

Vernon twitched at this news, and he opened his mouth to say something, but Petunia jumped up and said, "Oh, dear! What am I thinking? It's NOT TIME for cake YET, IS IT DEAR?" and then sat down abruptly. And Vernon closed his mouth, and his eyes. His ears and neck were quite red.

23 June 2020. 7:50 a.m.

Dudley held his wife's hand as they listened to their children destroy the kitchen. SMASH. "STOP IT, Dom!" their daughter cried. "Let ME do it!"

"You're letting the sausages burn!"

"They're SUPPOSED to be that way! Daddy likes the burnt ones!"

SLOSH.

SCRAPE.

"NO, he hates them, he just eats them to be nice and not waste food!"

Nicole closed her eyes. "If they set off the smoke alarms like they did on Mothering Sunday…"

Dudley waved his phone at her. "Made good pictures, though. Very dramatic, us fanning the smoke out the door." He thought his wife looked gorgeous, as always. He leaned his head to lie next to hers and readied for a selfie.

She struck out at the phone like a cobra. "Absolutely not!" He held the phone high out of her reach, and she hid behind the pillow. The pillowcase was yellow, her favorite color.

"DAVIANNE! NOOOOO!" Dominic was upset, it seemed. Could be his sister had knocked everything to the floor. Could be the fork was on the wrong side of the tray.

Nicole moved the pillow off her face just long enough to call out, "Remember, you kids have to clean up the kitchen!"

The smell of eggs joined the scorched sausage aroma.

Their children's voices dropped into tense whispers, and Dudley snapped a shot of Nicole's arms holding her pillow shield.