18 September 1997

"What do you mean, you burned down Snape's house?" Remus asked. He'd finally woken up from his nap and stood rubbing his eyes in the shadow of the towering bookshelves. He rubbed at his mouth as if to remove a bad taste.

Dedalus, who'd showered and changed back into a dapper mauve tailcoat, patted the shelf with a smile. "Exactly as it sounds. Not hard to explain, really. It was easy to contain, with all the rain we've been having. Put a Fire Freeze Charm on the neighbor's place – only had to do the one, as Snape's was at the end of the row – and a few quick Incendio's later, the roof had collapsed, the windows had burst, and the whole interior had filled with smoke."

He pulled a book off the shelf and thumbed through it. "Don't look so shocked, Remus, it doesn't suit you. It's not just about revenge, you know – though it was fun. This way, Snape has no idea what we stole, or indeed, that we stole anything at all! Works greatly to our advantage to learn his secrets in secret, you see?"

Remus swallowed and leaned against an armchair. Blinking several times, he shook his head. "Hmm, something… doesn't sit quite right, though. This retaliation…"

"Spoils of war, my good man!" Dedalus crowed. "And haven't we all been getting bored, cooped up in this place? I certainly have. Now we have all the books we could ever hope for – and this is just a small part in the collection, mind –"

Dudley started at this, but kept his eyes on the flashcards. Remus hadn't noticed him, and he wanted to keep it that way. He tensed at the thought of EVEN MORE BOOKS filling the place. Where would they all fit?

"See, these are just the books that Arthur and Bill cleared, guaranteed curse-free! They're testing more, but I wanted to bring home the booty at once for us all to enjoy."

"Dedalus…" Remus warned.

POP! The sound of a new arrival outside the door made Dudley look up, suddenly hopeful. He wanted to tell her the name he'd picked for the owl, and also the story behind it. He'd taken the wrong tack this whole time, he thought. Hestia and Dedalus had no idea about how exciting movies and television could be. He had practically memorized the Predator, and several other classic qWASGH4I8

Hestia walked through the front door and stuck her head into the sitting room. She was carrying two massive baskets that smelled delicious. "Food from Molly Weasley!" she called. "Remus, there's a regular party over at Muriel's. Molly, Arthur, Bill, plus the twins – and Molly pulled off one of her feasts. Sent me home with victuals for all of us, she did. Here, Dudley, give us a hand, would you?"

Dudley wedged past the two wizards, around the long bookshelf, and took the baskets from her. His mouth watered at the smell of bacon, which he hadn't got in weeks. He peeked at the smaller basket. It was full of eggs.

"Molly wants to know if we'd have room to keep a few chickens? I told her I thought the owls might go for them, but she said there's a Charm can keep the owls off, so…" her voice trailed off. "You alright, Remus? You look quite peaky."

Dudley didn't stick around to hear Remus' answer, but continued on to the kitchen. There, he unpacked the food parcel, working faster and faster, until the whole countertop was crammed with food. Like Dedalus' satchel, the basket held more than it looked like it could from the outside. Three whole roast chickens. Two baskets of rolls. Green beans. Potatoes. Salad. A huge tureen of vegetable soup. Bottles of a mystery liquid that smelled of nutmeg and sugar. And a massive chocolate cake.

Dudley sighed. After nearly two months in the cottage, his clothes were just that little bit tighter. It had taken Dudley two years of misery, feeling starved nearly all the time, to become Boxer Dudley. The growth spurts had helped, of course. Even with his workouts, sitting around all day in a house full of his mum's baking was taking a toll.

Though he'd been relieved to see Hestia and Dedalus make it back alive, Dudley wasn't in much of a mood for another two-hour feast. The weirdos talked around the table, lingering long past the time the Dursleys would have switched to watching television. The conversations were mostly references to Quidditch, and speculations about what Harry might be doing, and reminiscences about the Order of the Phoenix members who were lost. It all went over Dudley's head. He'd end up eating far more than he'd planned, end up staggering away with a spinning head and a stomachache, and spend the rest of the day berating himself. Until the next meal.

Dudley dipped a mug into the soup tureen and drank it down, half scalding his throat. Then, he put on his shoes and jacket, yelled, "Going for a walk!" up the stairs, and took off.

19 September 1997

Dudley had sneaked out of the house early after his morning workout with a pack of food. He'd stuck to the woods and river, lost in contemplation over how to improve his life at Meadowsweet Cottage. He should be better at this, he thought as he kicked a rotten log. He'd never had such a difficult time getting his way, not since his early years at Smeltings.

The Smeltings boys had not been impressed with Dudley and Piers, particularly with Dudley. At his primary school, Dudley's fists had kept the other pupils in line. They might call him fat (or other words for fat) or stupid (or other words for stupid) once, but never twice. Only Harry had kept up the cheek, and he was unusually good at escaping. Plus, he had that whole I-don't-care-if-you-hurt-me thing. Smeltings was a different world. The toys and electronics that had helped Dudley and Piers draw in Malcolm, Gordon, and Dennis into their group turned out to be small potatoes at Smeltings. What was a bike compared to a horse? Majorca, compared to Tibet? Manager, compared to CEO or MP? Grunnings, you say? Never heard of it. Drills? Didn't even know we made those in England.

It took a few years for Dudley to suss out that the Smeltings snobs were losers in their own world. Some were rich enough for Eton and Harrow, too dumb, unpolished, or unruly to be accepted. They were disappointments to their parents, even if they ended up as Head Boy.

There were the scholarship kids of course, the swots, whom Dudley and Piers had initially eyed as targets. Trouble was, the swots stuck together, or latched onto the snobs. They were fun to knock around, but there were always consequences.

That left the bulk of the student body, who (like Dudley) were mostly middle-class sons of alumni. There were plenty of them who enjoyed the same things as Dudley and Piers, and might have made friends if Dudley hadn't wanted to take charge so much. Dudley stuck out, due to his size, and his embarrassing blunders in the classroom, and his aggression. He was close to becoming a pariah by his first Christmas holiday, and even Piers was starting to distance himself, when Dudley had hit on the one thing that managed to let him claw his way to at least the top of the bottom tier of the social hierarchy.

Commerce.

The rich kids had amazing gadgets – at home. They had delicious treats – at home. At school, the food was bleak, the television time was limited, and the sheets were scratchy.

Dudley returned from his first holiday with a suitcase full of chocolates, wrapped in packaging that would keep them fresh until he opened them. He waited until everyone else had consumed the biscuits and sweets they'd brought with them, then started selling the chocolates, for cash and for trade. Piers ran the money side of things, since he was better at sums, while Dudley worked out deals with the upper-level boys who didn't have pocket money. Better spot in the television room. Check over my homework. Those trainers look to be my size. They hadn't reckoned with Easter, though, and half his class had come in with their own chocolates to barter, and the chocolate market had crashed. Dudley was left with half a suitcase full of sweets, all of which he'd ended up consuming.

In subsequent years, Dudley and Piers diversified. With the popularity of Walkmans and portable radios, batteries emerged as the new currency. Other popular items included blank cassette tapes, Wite-out, and chewing gum. Dudley even offered protection that went beyond whacking students. I know you like chewing gum in class, Bassett. Sit behind me, and you won't get caught. Dudley didn't have friends, but he did have customers.

And now, Dudley was bankrupt.

He tossed another rock into the surging river. It plopped and sank, barely making a ripple in the surging rapids brought on by a week of rain. It was late afternoon, and he'd managed to avoid talking to anyone, including his parents.

Dillon, perched on a nearby boulder, ruffled his feathers and hooted at the sky.

"Magic's plumb useless, innit?" he asked the owl. "Can't even fetch me some batteries, can't fix your wing. Burn down a bloke's house? I could do that, if I wanted." Yeah, so he couldn't fit a bookshelf into a bag. Who'd bloody want to?

He tossed another rock. "The water's too rough to skip stones," he explained to Dillon. In truth, Dudley had never been good at skipping stones, preferring to send small pebbles into the legs of other kids.

"Thing is, we're all stocked up," he said. "What with the food from the Weasleys, and the stuff we've got made out of nuts, there's no reason for anyone to go out shopping."

In the distance, Dudley heard his parents' voices, huffing and puffing along. It sounded as if they were arguing as they came closer. He didn't want to talk with them. He didn't want to hear about whether Lupin and Tonks were getting along better now, or whether they should pick out more targets for the wizards to burn, or whether they ought to negotiate a chore cycle that would leave the place sparkling.

"Better keep it moving," he told Dillon, and scooped him up onto his shoulder. He tracked the river upstream, shoving aside ferns and stomping on thorny twigs, until he could no longer hear his parents. Everybody wanted something, he thought. Just because they could use magic didn't mean there was nothing he could do for them. He'd pitched in with minor chores enough he'd earned a few smiles from Hestia and Dedalus, but he needed something bigger. It had to be something that mattered loads to them, but wouldn't be too big a deal for him. Something you didn't need magic to do. If he could figure out what, he'd know what levers to press to get his own wishes granted.

He successfully evaded all human company until nightfall drove him back to the cottage.

Tonks and Dedalus had still not managed to fit the bookshelves into the sitting room properly, Dudley saw to his annoyance. They'd been fussing over it for nearly two days, now. He was eavesdropping from just inside the kitchen. The bookshelf machinations were frightening at times, what with the plaster being knocked off the walls, pictures crashing to the ground, and Tonks or Dedalus yelping whenever the shelf recoiled from their magical attempts to force it in place.

"We need Filius for this," Dedalus huffed. He levitated the bookshelf back against the wall again, and again, it swiveled free.

"You know, when I managed to get through my NEWT-level Charms, I never expected I'd be defeated by a simple piece of furniture," Tonks huffed. She ran a hand through her spiky, scarlet hair.

"Maybe we've been going about this all wrong." Dedalus twirled his top hat around his hands. "It was well embedded in the wall – acted like a secret door, one panel did."

"What? This was part door? Why didn't anyone mention that before? See, this is why I should have been there. Moody was a total freak for detail – drilled it into us constantly…" Tonks dropped off, muttering and running her wand over the back of the bookshelf.

"Maybe – Transfiguration? How's your Switching Spell?"

"Kept McGonagall off my back, anyway," Tonks said. She sniffed the wood. "Yeah, that's not normal varnish, it's some weird mess Snape must have dreamed up. Might need to break out the cauldron to get it against the wall."

"See, I think," Dedalus said, "though I can't be sure, that if we try to do a Switching Spell on part of the wall, and the sitting room doorway, and the back of this shelving, we could force the shelf to play the role it did over at Snape's house."

"Well, in that case, we ought to get Hestia in on this, yeah? I mean, Transfiguration's tricky stuff. It could work – or it could disintegrate the wall and collapse the cottage over our heads! She's better with that building stuff – I half dragged myself through Minnie's NEWT class so I could get into the Auror training."

"She's mucking out the owl tower," said Dedalus. "I'll fetch her at once! Could you tell the Dursleys to just step outside for a wee moment? This is going to get dangerous. And, would Remus like to help, or is he still feeling poorly?"

"He'll help if his only other option is to keep the Dursleys entertained," Tonks said. "Dedalus, can't you get the Dursleys? PLEASE?" she wheedled. "You deal with them so well, and I really – just – I'm so frustrated as it is…"

"Of course, if you truly prefer," he said. "I'd simply thought the stench of all that owl mess would …"

"Oh, believe me, I'll puke my guts out in the tower before I'll willingly chat with Vernon Dursley." Tonks threw on her boots and was out the front door before Dedalus had a chance to change his mind.

So. Dudley thought to himself. Tonks and Remus don't like Dad.

To trick Dedalus into thinking he'd just entered the house, he opened and shut the kitchen door, and yelled, "I'M BACK!"

The Dursleys stood outside in the dark. Their breath made frosty clouds in the air, while inside the cottage, they heard crashes, angry cries, and rattlings. Though they stood with their backs to the cottage, several feet away in the shielded circle Dedalus had set up for them, they couldn't ignore the way the air around them lit with yellow and orange as the din continued and the whole cottage shivered.

"Listen to them," Petunia sniffed. "Can't even get the furniture arranged nicely. And all those books will be a nightmare to dust, watch my words."

Vernon harrumphed in agreement. Then, he made a bit of a nudge at Petunia, and said, "Er, Dudders, while we're stuck out here, against our will…"

"There's something we want to discuss with you, Diddums. Something important. It's – well, it's rather a grown-up topic. One we don't want them to hear."

Dudley wondered what this could be. Vernon had already had The Talk with Dudley several years back, and had gifted him with several condoms that he had told him to keep close. There's loads of loose women want nothing more than a baby from a Smeltings man, he'd said. Use your own, Dudders – they're always poking 'em full of holes.

"It's about money, son." Vernon looked grim and wiped his mustache. "We – we've got to find a way to pay off some bills, and, well – "

"We own the house outright, you see. Bought it with Daddy's inheritance when Granddad died. Selling it could easily pay all our bills, for several years to come, and –"

"And I'm quitting Grunnings." His father spoke with finality. "Can't see any other way around it. Damn these – these –"

"You see, Diddykins, your father is an honest man." Petunia gripped her husband's arm. "A good man. He isn't able to work for the place, and he's run out of leave time, and, well –"

"I'd rather quit than be sacked without even knowing it," he said. "Whatever that Diggle fellow says, the Mr. Grunnings will suspect something by now. He's no fool. And as for the workers – they're probably unionizing as we speak. Makes me sick to think of it," he sniffed and wiped away a tear.

Dudley was shocked. He'd never seen his father cry. "It's alright, I guess, Dad. I mean, we have food here, and once the War's over, you can get another job."

His father snorted. "Not bloody likely, man of my age and standing, quitting without notice, and with what's likely to be several years of this imprisonment. We'll be penniless, most likely."

"Unless…" Petunia said. "Unless, Dudley. Unless we have some other source of income."

Dudley thought for a moment as his parents fell silent.

"The house…" he remembered the earlier part of their conversation. "You … want to sell it?"

"Something like that, Diddums. But how could we arrange a sale from here?"

"You could… have Tonks pretend to be us? And then get a real estate agent and sell it?" Dudley felt like he was missing something. How would Tonks even manage it? Wouldn't she bungle all the complicated paperwork? Gordon's mum was a real estate agent, and she was always toting around thick clipboards of paper with tiny print and lines for signatures. He scratched his head. "I'm confused. And aren't there, you know, Death Eaters in our house? Won't they hurt whoever buys it when they try to move in?"

Petunia's eyes welled with tears, and she squeezed his cheeks like he was a little baby. "My clever, clever man. OH, my dearest darling. And so compassionate." She sobbed into Vernon's shoulder.

"Errr…" Dudley trailed off.

"Son, do you know what home insurance is?" Vernon asked.

"Darling – popkin – I promise, I've moved all of your precious things into a storage centre. All our photo albums. All our souvenirs from traveling. Box by box, little by little, ever since June. As soon as those nasty freaks showed up and started babbling about how we needed to leave, I thought – better not take anything for granted. And, and –"

"Well, you see, son. Dudley. You see, that Diggle fellow's just burned down one of their houses, hasn't he? Think he'll take it well, violent murderer that he is?"

Dudley's mouth had gone dry, so he just shook his head NO.

"It's just a matter of time, before he retaliates," said Petunia.

"But," Dudley asked. "But – how would he know? Why would he even think of us?"

"He's always hated me, darling. And now he'll be furious, not that his nasty hovel was worth anything. Probably didn't even own it – council rubbish." Petunia said. "But, you're right. Perhaps there's no need to worry."

"Still…" said Vernon. "If the worst should happen. We can file a claim, and if – if she – has to impersonate us, it would just be the one meeting. Instead of all the meetings you'd need to have to sell a house."

"It's all their fault, anyway. We told them and told them we couldn't just disappear without notice, you remember."

Dudley felt queasy. This plan seemed to have no upside to him. If their house burned down, and his dad had no job, didn't that mean they'd be homeless and unemployed after the War? And that there was no going back? Dudley had wanted to move out some time, maybe get a flat in London, but he hadn't wanted to have everything just – gone.

"We wanted you to be prepared, darling. So it wouldn't come as a shock, if it happens."

"Mum's the word, though, Dudders. Don't want them putting in their oar and mucking the whole thing up." Vernon stamped his feet and rubbed his hands together. "When are we to be allowed back inside?"

Dudley had a feeling his parents hadn't told him everything about why they thought their house would soon be burnt to the ground. He reckoned, though, that they weren't the only Dursleys who could dream up a good scheme. If they were right, though, he thought, there was no going back. He had to improve his situation, right here, and as soon as possible.

"Mum? Dad?" Dudley asked. "It'll be alright. But, could you talk to Tonks? I think she's worried about having a baby. Could you tell her some ways to get ready for it?" He hugged his parents. "Maybe some marriage advice, too?"

Tonks and Remus didn't like his parents. They needed a good solid dose of Dursley magic. Then maybe Dudley could act as a distraction for his parents, and he would finally get his batteries, and maybe some other things as well.

Petunia snorted. "Of course, Diddums. Not that I think she'll listen to reason."

"I'll talk to her idiot husband," Vernon said. "Give him some tips on keeping a woman happy. Though why he picked such an emotional bit of baggage as a wife, I can't begin to fathom. Pick a woman of sense, Dudders. Someone with brains, with spirit." Vernon gave Petunia's hand a squeeze.

"If anyone can manage things," Dudley said. "It's the two of you." As he pulled his parents in for a tighter hug, there was a loud cheering from the cottage behind them. Action time, he thought, and waited for Dedalus to come let them back in.

A/N: Think 4 Privet Drive will survive the war, or will it burn? Also, will Dudley's plan work, and what other bargaining chips will he find? Thanks for reading and the reviews!