I also realize Deathly Hallows implies that Dedalus and Hestia hide out with the Dursleys the whole time (because Dedalus isn't at his house when it's burnt), but I think they would have taken turns going out for work and supplies, at least at first. Arthur is working at his job when Harry and Co. raid the Ministry, so I figured the Order members didn't all up and quit their jobs all at once.

Thanks for the reviews!

23 June 2020. 8:35 a.m.

Dudley, dressed in shirt, tie, jacket, and pajama pants, readied himself for his nine o'clock interview. He clicked through his files and emails, scanning for details, jotting down notes and ideas on what to say. He hated these things. He hoped the reporter wouldn't ask him too many questions and would stick to interviewing the other "local, small business owners."

"Think the jacket's too much?" he asked Nicole.

She laughed at him. "Just keep the camera pointed at your face, and don't get out of your chair. Sure you don't want to wear your gym's shirt?"

"Nah. Dress to impress, Dad always said."

She checked her watch. "I'm supposed to hear from two clients today – here's hoping it's not more cancellations."

Her office calendar showed several entries crossed out with red lines, or covered in sticky notes marked "POSTPONED".

"Think anyone will even come back to work out, if they let us re-open?" he asked her.

"Yeah, of course. People are well sick of being stuck at home. It'll be like the post-New Year's rush."

Dudley gave her a half-hearted smile. "People can get used to the weirdest things, though."

She bent her head to put in an earring. "Doesn't mean they like them."

2 September 1997

The plan, worked out the day before, was to coax Hestia and Dedalus into several brief but significant conversations to advance the Dursley objectives.

Vernon would display his knowledge of wartime strategy, gleaned through repeated watching of historical specials. In the best-case scenario, the cowardly weirdos would take him on as their general, bringing a rapid end to the war. Vernon had sketched out a few maps of Britain with targets for destruction, targets that wouldn't be missed by normal society, but could cause damage to the morale of the corrupt Magical Ministry. In the worst-case scenario – should the weirdos flout his advice - Vernon would continue to repeat the advice until it finally sank in.

Petunia would use her personable skills to get as much insight into the workings of the freaks' inner circle as possible. She'd scribbled down an encrypted list of names and anecdotes remembered from her sister's school stories. Severus Snape was target #1, but it would be foolhardy to bring up their past connection too soon. "It's never a good idea to let them know how much we know," she'd explained to Vernon and Dudley. "They don't like it. Like to think themselves superior – in knowledge as well as … you know. Better to be mocked for your ignorance than attacked for knowing too much. Things are delicate. We can't afford to unsettle them." Petunia wasn't sure who would be the better source of this intelligence, Dedalus or Hestia. They were each volatile, with Dedalus likely to break down crying over his house, or Hestia likely to give them more childish punishments for imagined infractions. Surely, they each had opinions about their allies and their enemies. If anyone could get someone to voice long-held grievances against a friend, it was Petunia.

Dudley would try to get their captors to care about solving the electricity problem. He was supposed to steer clear of any war talk. His parents were both concerned for his safety. "Nice strong lad like you," Vernon had said, "they'd have you out on the frontlines in a trice." Instead, Dudley would emphasize his eagerness to complete his studies. In a near miracle, and thanks to intensive tutoring, he'd passed enough GCSE's to be permitted to continue at Smeltings. He'd been studying four A-level subjects since last year: Computer Science, Film Studies, Sports Science, and Physical Education. While he'd brought his textbooks and notebooks in his luggage, he had never expected to be completely isolated or to lack electricity. All the Dursleys had complained over the last five weeks about the lack of electricity and modern technology. These complaints had, of course, featured Dudley's schoolwork as the top concern. Yet, the wizard and witch had been thoroughly indifferent.

"You can study your books, Dudley," Dedalus had said. "I'd be happy to help quiz you. Anyway, all this eckeltricity is really nonsense, isn't it? We get along just fine without it."

Dudley had tried to explain how important it was to test his code on a real computer that was turned on, and how he still hadn't even seen several of the older films.

"As soon as the war's over, and your cousin has at last defeated You-Know-Who, you can get to the cinema post-haste! Catch up in a night or two!" Dedalus had beamed. "Perhaps I should come with you, learn a thing or two myself! My old Muggle Studies professor certainly would be amazed to see me now, you know. Living with Muggles!"

Hestia had been no better. "Harry Potter – your cousin, in case you've forgotten– isn't attending his final year of school either, you know. And he'd have likely been made Head Boy! And Quidditch captain! He's missing everything, and by his own volition. Because he knows there are things more important than gadgets and examinations – the very fate of the world hangs in the balance!"

Then she'd treated the Dursleys to another long speech about Harry and his role as the Chosen One and how much hope he gave everyone on the anti-Voldemort side of things, and how much Voldemort would love to kill him, and the Dursleys, and her, and everyone else, it seemed. Vernon had whispered later that the only thing that BOY had CHOSEN to do so far was cause everyone ELSE an awful lot of trouble.

And so it had gone, week after week after miserable week. The Dursleys' complaints had become a feature of the day, like the early morning birdsong, the reddening leaves, the migrating birds' raucous calls, and the first stars glimmering in the twilight.

For this reason, Dudley felt he had been given the hardest job of the family. Petunia and Vernon could play to their strengths, whereas they'd all already repeatedly failed to get Hestia and Dedalus to care about electricity and his A-levels.

His new plan – approved in advance by his parents – was to offer to solve the problem himself. Vernon, unbeknownst to their captors, had withdrawn several hundred pounds from the bank before they'd left. If they could get out to a bookstore or library, to find a guide on house wiring, and a hardware store, for supplies– wire, a fusebox, outlets, and a generator. And petrol. And work gloves. And tools. Pick up a new TV and VCR as well – they'd never imagined their new place wouldn't have these features. Dudley had packed his bulky laptop – the battery had given out the second day - but he didn't really fancy working on its tiny screen. He hoped there'd be money left over to get a better system. He also hoped the Death Eaters in his house had been mystified enough by his desktop that they'd left it alone, and that he could use it again. Someday.

Once properly supplied, Dudley and Vernon would add the wiring from the generator to the house themselves. It couldn't be too hard. In the best-case scenario, Dudley would get his technology and entertainment back. In the worst-case scenario – well – Dudley tried to push down his thoughts of fire and electrocution.

The Dursleys planned to sprinkle their topics of conversation throughout the day, starting after lunch. That would allow time for the weirdos to get over whatever jolt of surprise might be brought by the morning paper. They'd also keep up plenty of Diana talk. After all, if they couldn't attend the funeral for safety reasons, perhaps their captors would finally see the value of the televised broadcast.

It was a brilliant plan.

Both Hestia and Dedalus had spent the night, and their breakfast conversation centred on whether they should risk going to work.

"It's Tuesday," Hestia said. "By rights, I should be taking the afternoon and evening shift at Eeylops." She pursed her lips and spread her currant preserves in slow circles over her toast.

"They might be waiting for you," Dedalus said. "I think one of us ought to disguise ourselves and reconnoitre."

She nodded. "Or, we could ask one of the others to look. You know, check it out, then let us know."

"Bill will have told them all about the attack yesterday, don't you think?"

"Of course. But no one's been in touch since. Probably had more to attend to. I have to be honest, Dedalus, the more time goes on, the less I like being out of the loop so much of the time. We need a better system for communicating."

Vernon busied himself with clearing the dishes. Hestia and Dedalus hadn't even brought in the papers yet; they'd been so worried about what might be waiting for them in Diagon Alley.

"If you need to go somewhere," Petunia said, "go right ahead. We're quite comfortable here. Just, please do be careful."

Dedalus and Hestia didn't look up at her. "You said you didn't see Ginny in Diagon Alley yesterday?"

Hestia shook her head. "No. But I know Molly and Arthur had planned to send her to Hogwarts, whatever happened. She won't have run off just because of the news about Snape. She'll have stayed to help the others."

"Hmm hmm hmm," Dedalus hummed and fiddled with his spoon. "Well, of all of us who are left, Molly's probably the safest bet, don't you think? For being clear to receive a Patronus?"

Hestia shrugged. "Her or Tonks. Nowadays, anyway."

"I don't want to disturb Tonks," Dedalus said, "in her condition."

"If I know her, she'll be pacing around, dying for something to do. Probably climbing the walls by now."

Dedalus clicked his teeth. "Shame they sacked her, not that I'm particularly surprised. We really needed another Auror on our side. Now we're down to Kingsley, and he's at 10 Downing Street most of the day, well out of the action."

"So … Tonks, or Molly?"

"Why not both?"

Hestia nodded.

Dudley had been keeping track in his head. Molly. Ginny. Arthur. Tonx. Kingsley. He already knew Arthur and Kingsley, as they'd visited the Dursleys that summer to convince them to go into hiding. Dudley had believed them. Most days, he thought he'd done the right thing, overall, in convincing his parents to go into hiding. The deaths in the paper, the Death Eaters in 4 Privet Drive, and the blood and bruises on Hestia and Dedalus showed him that much. But today, he wished they'd all just made a run for it. It was possible the Death Eaters had never cared about them as much as all that - that they'd moved into 4 Privet Drive to wait for Harry, not his relatives - that this was all one big waste of time.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A silvery squirrel scampered around the room. Petunia and Dudley flinched when Dedalus had brandished his wand, but Dudley felt a sense of relief at seeing the squirrel. The squirrel leapt to the mantelpiece and flicked its tail several times as Dedalus told it to find Molly and ask her if it was safe to come by. The squirrel took a running leap through the far wall and bounced away across the sky.

"Expecto Patronum!"

Hestia's wand produced a silver great-horned owl that stood on the table and shifted from one foot to the other as she gave the same message for Tonx. The owl took wing at once, flying directly through the ceiling and off into the rising sun. Dudley noticed the owl didn't need to beat its wings to take flight.

Hestia paced the room while Dudley took a third piece of toast from the stack. She focused only on Dedalus, asking him, "If Diagon Alley's safe, do you want me to pick up some things? The apothecary shop might close down any day."

He nodded and started writing out a list with a peacock quill he conjured from thin air. "We'll need to lay up some Healing Potions, all sorts. Don't know what we'll be facing in the next few months."

Dudley noticed that when he was planning, Dedalus seemed calmer, more in control. His usually friendly face had a grim set to it.

Dudley wiped up some of his toast crumbs, and Hestia's piercing blue eyes fell on him. "Dudley. You said you wanted to help." He froze, bite of toast still unchewed. He nodded.

"I might need to bring the owls here, if we have to close down the London shop. They'll like the attic – get the ladder pulled down while I'm gone, and clear up some space, will you? We'll need space for about forty owls, if I can get them all. And they don't all get on, either, so make sure there's roosting space in all four corners, with flight room between each spot and the windows. And set out about 20 bowls for water."

Dudley nodded, his mouth full of toast. He avoided his mother's eye – she hated Harry's owl and the messes it made, and she must be having a fit at the thought of living with forty of the hooting, regurgitating, feathery beasts.

Hestia furrowed her brow. "Dedalus, I'll direct the owls to that little beech copse southwest of the wards, and the two of us can bring them all in a few at a time. Of course, we may not need to, just yet. But better to be prepared. After they attacked the store yesterday, there's no telling what might happen. That reminds me, d'you reckon we could ask Remus to check on the Leeds and Glasgow branches? Or is he still…?"

Dedalus waved airily. "I'm sure Remus would be delighted to help. And I think he's finished with his … er … diplomatic visits. For the time being."

This time, Dedalus concentrated before uttering his spell, and a soft smile came across his face before he shouted the incantation.

"Expecto Patronum!"

The squirrel appeared again, just as silvery, just as restless.

"Find Remus and ask him to check around the Eeylops in Leeds and Glasgow for any signs of trouble."

Breakfast was finished. The washing up was finished.

A silvery bantam rooster had arrived with the message, "Do come by, dear. Arthur's only just left for work." It spoke in a woman's voice, a friendly voice that smacked of biscuits and tea and comfortable chairs.

Dedalus left at once, disappearing from the dining room with a loud CRACK! that was so loud, Dudley couldn't help but jump.

Hestia paced and sighed, sighed and paced. She checked her watch every other minute. She pulled out her wand and tapped it against her palm, biting her lip.

Dudley lingered. Any moment, he imagined, the witch would send him up into the attic for a day of cleaning and organizing.

Three silver animals appeared in rapid succession.

A silver weasel appeared a few feet from Hestia's face. It hovered in the air and spoke in Mr. Weasley's voice, tense and excited, "Action at the Ministry! Much to report. Urgent meeting requested at Headquarters."

A few seconds later, two silver wolves appeared. One, in a woman's voice (accent: London) said, "Mum's just stepped out. Come by if you're up for a chat with someone whose been chunderin' her guts out all morning."

The other spoke, clear but curt, in a Welshman's voice, "Headquarters compromised. Death Eaters. Heavy fighting, help requested."

A silver goat appeared next, but before it could speak its message, Hestia had disappeared with the same loud CRACK!

The goat had no apparent interest in speaking to the Dursleys. It leaped out the window as soon as the witch was gone.

It was a good thing Dudley stood to the side when he pulled on the string to the attic hatch, because several boxes and trunks tumbled through it. Hestia's Great-aunt Bertrille (it was her old house they were using) must have Apparated in and out rather than using the official entrance.

Dudley shoved enough of the debris to the sides of the corridor that he could pull down the ladder. It looked flimsy – tiny wooden rungs better suited to a dollhouse. He decided to skip the ladder altogether and jumped up to grab the sides of the hatch. He hauled himself up, hands – elbows – chest – knees- expecting a huge, dusty mess.

He got it.

Chests. Broken old toys. Mounted heads of mysterious animals, with the fur and scales half gone. Something skittering and giggling in the corner. He looked for a weapon. There was a bucket with a few sticks wedged into it. No, not sticks – short, stout wooden bats. He tugged the bucket closer and pulled out a bat. It was good and heavy. He gave it a couple of swings. Good balance.

Dudley stood with one foot on either side of the rectangular hole that led to the floor below. There was no other space for his feet.

At each of the far ends of the attic was a small, slatted vent that let in enough light for him to see, as well as a damp breeze that kicked up the dust.

He tried to remember what the witch had requested.

Clear the four corners. Leave a flight path between.

He realized he might also need to knock out the slats from the vents to let the owls in.

The attic roof was short enough that he had to stoop, even in the middle. What a pain in the arse, he thought. Near the edges, he saw it was only a foot or so from the flooring. At least the flooring looked solid – no hopping from beam to beam required.

The dust made Dudley cough. He pulled his T-shirt up to cover his nose and mouth. With one arm, he shoved at the pile of junk to his left and was pleased when he managed to slide it. He stepped over the attic doorway, shoving more and more junk away from the center. He pushed, shoved, tossed, and stacked, slowly making a path to one of the corners.

The skittering sound stayed behind him, and every so often, he'd pause from the furniture tossing to wave the bat around him.

As he neared the corner, he was forced to his knees by the low-hanging wall. He decided to face the skittering sound and work his way backwards to the corner. He planned for his paths to make an "X" through the attic, but as he stacked the junk higher and higher, he realized he was cutting off the flight path the owls would need from the windows. The paths needed to be more of an asterisk shape, with a central path from the windows connecting to the "X" made for the corners.

Dudley moved back to the door and started kicking things down to the pile of broken trunks and tables that had fallen through when he'd opened it.

"Everything alright, Diddums?" his mother called from the far end of the corridor.

"FINE, MUM!" he bellowed back.

He was annoyed by the chore, with its dust and mess. He chucked a stack of paintings through the hatch. A few of them yelled.

Yelled?

He peeped through the doorway. Painted witches and wizards shook their fists and jeered at him from their frames. "Watch what you're doing, young man!" "REALLY! After all that time in the dark, you think we'd be treated with more respect!"

Dudley tossed a few blankets down on the pile until the angry voices were muffled.

He'd ALMOST finished one leg of the asterisk, so he sat down on the edge of the attic door with his legs dangling out.

"MUM!" he yelled, pulling down his T-shirt from his face. "COULD I GET A SNACK AND SOME TEA UP HERE?"

"Of course, Diddums! Right away, darling!"

During Dudley's first diet a few years ago, Petunia's snacks had all become veg-heavy. His snack today consisted of some walnuts and radishes. Petunia had carved the radishes to look like rabbit heads, complete with ears and whiskers. He crunched down on one of the radishes. Then he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

He realized the scuffling and giggling he'd been hearing all morning at the far end of the attic had grown quiet.

He tightened his grip on the bat and kept crunching, hoping the loud noise would distract whatever was sneaking up on him.

There was a time Dudley would have jumped to the floor and raced out of the house to get away. But it had been a while since Dudley had got to fight anyone, and he was fed up and eager for a confrontation. Magic things attacked quickly, in his experience. A few moments in, and the world turns upside down and inside out. Dudley'd been shoving things around in the attic for a while, but whoever was messing around hadn't yet dared to show its face. He thought there was a chance he could win a fight with it, especially with a weapon.

He hummed a little, trying to lure it closer. He could hear it now, a few feet off his left shoulder.

Skitter.

Skitter.

Dudley whirled around, grasping with his left hand, swinging the bat up with his right. He knew exactly where it was.

His hand swept through empty air, throwing him off balance. He blinked.

In front of him was a spindly end table that he'd swear hadn't been there before – he'd spent enough time wading through that section.

Annoyed, Dudley grabbed at one of the table's twisting legs, planning to toss it through to the debris pile below.

The table jumped out of his way.

Then it laughed, a stupid, low giggle and snort.

Dudley twisted his head to make a popping sound with his neck. He'd seen it in a movie, and it was supposed to be intimidating. The table laughed again.

"Better behave," he told the table. "Or else you'll get the bat." He tapped his open palm with the bat. "You'll be a pile of splinters if you can't shut up. Now, get out of the way, and there'll be no problems."

The table just stood there.

It had got to this point, Dudley realized. This was the breaking point.

It wasn't that he was threatening a piece of furniture. It was that it felt normal.

Something in him knew, as he swung the bat with all his strength, that he wouldn't hear the crack of splintering wood. That gut feeling allowed him to keep his balance and avoid stumbling through the hatch when, indeed, the bat whooshed through the air that had once been occupied by the table.

He was not prepared to see the table twist and melt into the form of a grubby little kid that somersaulted away, then scampered to the far corner of the attic, out of sight behind the towering piles of furniture, trunks, and old books.

"Clean the attic, Dudley," he muttered, mimicking Hestia's voice. "Never mind the mental table kid I've got hidden away up there."

Dudley smashed a small trunk with the bat and was pleased to see it crack. He took his time smashing it, until all the boards had chunks out of them, and the bundles of towels inside had spilled onto the attic floor. "Yes, do write another essay for me about how wrong it is to ABUSE CHILDREN by sticking them in cupboards. The PROPER thing is to stow them away in dusty old attics!" SMASH. CRACK. BANG.

He was technically doing what he'd been told. Hestia hadn't said he COULDN'T clear the attic by taking a bat to all her aunt's old rubbish.

A chortle came from the far corner, followed by some loud banging.

"Had a nice time up here by yourself, have you?" Dudley taunted. "Well, hope you like birds, coz there's going to be loads of 'em moving into your room, flapping all over and leaving their droppings everywhere."

There was a groan and a metallic banging.

"What've you got over there, a bunch of pots?" Dudley called. "I've got to get all these corners cleared, so I'm coming over your way."

He whacked at a stack of bird cages, sending them toppling and rolling. He waded through the old junk, tossing and batting everything aside.

He reached the corner and found a set of massive cauldrons, dented and pitted. One had a ragged hole through the bottom.

The kid – and the end table – were nowhere.

"Got yourself some drums, huh?" Dudley flipped the broken cauldron over and tapped out a rhythm.

From the opposite end of the attic, the sound was repeated.

Dudley ignored the table kid for the moment and cleared some space in the corner. He'd need some places to set all the water bowls, so he made the space large enough for a few owls as well as the water.

He hoped Hestia would be the one to come up here and clean up after the owls.

Dudley's favorite part of the day so far was smashing out the slats in the attic vent. He peered out of the vent when he'd finished, and saw thick clouds rolling in. They'd had beautiful weather all of August, but now it seemed the rains were due.

Dudley spat out the window.

It was bad enough being stuck here, without also being stuck indoors.

Maybe Dedalus could conjure an umbrella for them.

At this thought, he closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to clear it.

How had it come to this, that he was coming up with things a wizard could make him with magic? How had those terms – wizard, magic – popped into his head so readily? How could his life keep changing, again and again, until what was once unthinkable became routine?

The table kid apparently had liked how Dudley had smashed up the vent and was trying to do the same to the other vent. Dudley could barely make out the kid's matted hair at the far end of the attic. The kid swung an old trophy at the slats, and they buckled, but held.

"I was just getting to that one!" Dudley said. "And you'd be better off using one of these bats. There's more in the bucket by the hatch."

Silence.

Then another chuckle, a sort of rippling across the dimly lit stacks, and then there the kid was again by the vent, holding a bat. It wasn't using it too well. Dudley smirked, relieved that this kid seemed not only uninterested in a fight, but incapable of winning one. He sat down and watched the kid work over the attic vent, and even felt a tinge of pride when the last slats fell to the garden below.