8 October 1997. 7:12 a.m.

Dudley walked into the sitting room.

Someone was sitting in Tonks' favorite chair, curled up with the legs tucked under, yellow socks showing wear at the heel. Black hair flopped in greasy strings across the eyes and around the chin. Long, drawn, pallid features topped knobby wrists and bony fingers that flicked the pages of a book with irritation. Thin lips twisted back and away from crooked, yellowing teeth while, above the sneering mouth, eyes blacker than a tomb met Dudley's with a challenge.

"Wotcher, Tonks," Dudley said, in his best fake London accent.

Tonks held up a handful of dried, purplish flowers with spiky leaves.

"Can you tell me what this is, Dursley?" she asked.

"Flowers," Dudley said promptly.

"Really, Dursley, I expect more from a Seventh Year."

They weren't roses, daisies, or tulips.

"Uhhh… begonias."

"Fifty points from Privet Drive," she said. "For your information, Dursley, this is aconite. Wolfsbane."

"Nice. Your voice sounds weird."

"I didn't ask for commentary, Dursley. Fifty more points from Privet Drive. That puts you well in the negative, I believe. One more question – " she brandished the bunch of aconite at him, "would this amount of wolfsbane be the cure, or is it a fatal dose?"

"Er—best not to find out?"

She tossed the plants onto the arm of the chair and morphed her face back to normal. Her hair stayed black but shrank into her usual short cut. "Unfortunately, I'm going to have to find out. Or rather, Remus is. Today's the day, Dudley." She stood up and stretched. "Today's the day I could become the sixth known person in Britain to successfully brew the Wolfsbane Potion. Or it's the day I kill the father of my child and the love of my life."

"Six is my lucky number," Dudley offered.

"Of course it is."

"I thought it worked last time, what you did."

"Unsatisfactory. It only mostly worked, and mostly worked isn't going to cut it, Dudley. Remus said he felt on edge, that his control slipped later in the night. Only hurt himself a little, he says. I've got to get it better."

Dudley shifted his weight from one foot to the other a few times, trying to think of how to end the conversation. "Just going to get some water. Good luck on the thing."

"Wolfsbane Potion." Tonks shifted back into weirdo-greasy mode and glared once more at the plant.

"So? Where is she?" Petunia hissed at him when he returned to his room. Vernon was asleep still, snoring down the corridor.

"Sitting room. She's in a right weird mood, though, so I wouldn't go asking for favors."

"What kind of mood, Dudders? Be as specific as you can." Petunia twisted her fingers around each other, stopping just short of cracking her knuckles. She'd often warned Dudley against it, saying it caused arthritis. Yet here she was, Dudley thought, cracking away.

"Er… weird. She's looking like some mental bloke and going on about a Potion."

Petunia closed her eyes and grew very still. She swallowed a few times and shook her head.

"You alright, Mum?"

"Never better, dear. Just, and there's some things I need, and I don't trust her not to bungle the job."

"She said she was going to be brewing that potion today," Dudley said. "So, I don't know as she's going out. Didn't she just go to the store, anyway?"

Petunia stood up. "Couldn't hurt to ask, though, could it? It takes time, getting the message through, with them."

She headed down the stairs.

Dudley didn't need the copper spy tube to hear Petunia's shriek. Or the thud of a book hitting the wall.

"Oi! Sorry, Petunia! It's just me!" Tonks yelped.

"What on earth were you doing done up as that… that…"

"Yeah, sorry, sorry! I forgot you know what Snape looks like, and everybody else is off at Dedalus' place, working on the wards."

"But WHY? Even for you, it's beyond the limit of decency!"

"It's – it's just something I've always done, if I want to think like someone, I've got to look like that person. Helped me solve a case loads of times, I can tell you. This potion, see… ugh, never mind. Look, I'm not Snape, alright? See? So untwist your knickers and pick up that book you threw. Terrible aim you've got, by the way."

"I beg your pardon." Petunia said. "I wasn't expecting to be confronted with the sight of a murderer! I came down to ask you if…" and her voice dropped to such a quiet level that Dudley couldn't make out the words.

Tonks' voice only got louder. "No! Certainly not! I'm not taking any of you lot out to the shops, and anyway, I'm not leaving this place today. Not any time this week, in fact." Dudley heard the scrape of a chair being pushed back. "I got everything from your list, didn't I? I'd think you'd want to make sure the money doesn't run out too quickly."

The Dursleys had all been asking to go out shopping with Tonks, or to visit the Lupin cabin, or Dedalus' burned-out place in Kent, and they'd been told no every time.

"You've got to stop with this," Tonks continued. "There's Death Eaters searching for all of us, and it's dangerous enough for me going out on my own, in disguise. Now, I've got work to do in my room, and I don't want to be disturbed, not for anything. If the place starts burning down, just get out and wait for me."

11:00 a.m.

Dudley listened to the sounds of chopping and swearing coming through the Lupins' bedroom door.

The sun was out.

That meant the hens were venturing out into their yard.

Dudley needed a break, so he tucked the Wizarding Wireless under his arm and headed out to feed the hens. They didn't need it, because they'd already been fed in the morning, while they were huddled in their coop away from the rain.

The mixed seed and corn felt dusty as he tossed a few handfuls to the clucking birds. One of the owls, high in one of the tower's windows, opened an eye and flapped its wings.

"Don't even try it, mate," Dudley told it. "Hestia's got this chicken run well protected."

There was no fencing marking out the chicken run, just a line of sun-bleached oyster shells that Dedalus had contributed for a border. He and Hestia had warded the coop and span of torn-up grass around it from predators, whether they'd try to tunnel in, swoop down, or crawl through.

As he tossed out the corn, he counted the hens to make sure they'd all come out of the coop. Yes, there they were, the nine of them. There was nothing magical about these birds. They were just chickens. They could, in theory, lay one egg a day, although there were usually only six or seven eggs total from the flock.

Hestia said it was because the days were getting shorter.

Not that it mattered how many they got from the flock, as Dedalus multiplied the eggs each day to whatever number was needed.

The brown hen with spiky feathers around its head bowled the big yellow one out of her way to get at the biggest pile of corn.

She reminded Dudley of someone, but he couldn't place it. He threw some more corn at the stragglers.

The music today, according to the bored-sounding witch who announced the programs in the afternoon, was a selection of tuba solos from Romuald Smith, famed Pureblood Composer of the 1680s. Between selections, she assured the audience that the Ministry was keeping all of them safe and secure from the dangerous Mudbloods roaming the countryside.

"Owl the Ministry at once if you notice any suspicious characters in your vicinity. If anyone asks to use your Floo, say no, and send up an alarm signal. If you see any Floo Powder missing – you can assume Mudbloods have been stealing into your home and rummaging through your things."

POP!

"You're overfeeding them, you know," Hestia said behind him, as the tuba music resumed. "They'd be better off just scratching for worms and insects."

Dudley liked seeing the hens run to him for their food. "I didn't feed them much."

"So you say. But Dedalus will be back soon, and he'll feed them just a little, and then you'll feed them just a little more, and then they'll make themselves ill."

"Did you attend school with a Mudblood? You would be shocked to know how many of them fake wizarding ancestry upon graduation, pulling the wool over their employers' eyes for years, sometimes decades. Owl the Ministry with the name, year of matriculation, and last known whereabouts of the Mudbloods who plagued your schooldays."

Hestia flushed and glared at the Wireless. "Anything to report?"

"Nah. Just a lot of tuba music and … this sort of thing."

"Disgusting." Hestia shook her head. "People turning on each other, and over what? Something nobody can help. Muggleborns are just as magic as anybody."

"How's Dedalus' place?" Dudley asked, wanting to change the subject.

She smiled. "Warded. Fidelius up and active."

"No trouble from the …"

"Ghost? No. Jugson never showed up, and if he had, Remus and Dedalus were there on the outer wards, to block anyone who tried to interfere with me setting the Fidelius Charm. Not too surprising he didn't make it – if he took the long way round, ghosts don't travel quickly enough by daylight for him to catch us, and if he did the stupid thing and tried a direct path, it'd lead him straight into London."

Traffic. Right.

Wait.

Dudley's confusion must have shown, because Hestia added, "Where he died. Ghosts always get hung up a bit if they pass near their place of death. He'll be rattling around the House of Black for a few weeks at least if he was dimwitted enough to go near London."

"If he had showed up, could he hurt you?"

She shrugged. "Not magically. Maybe physically. Ghosts can make a nuisance of themselves. At the very least, if he managed to hide in the place while I warded it, he'd be able to report back to Voldemort. If Voldemort still gives him the time of day, that is. And if Jugson's still loyal after getting killed on the job. Ghosts are a funny lot, hard to predict." She yawned. "That ritual is draining, I must say. Anyway, Jugson could do any number of things, but he wouldn't be able to actually hurt me without help."

BOOM!

Dudley turned round. Vomit-coloured smoke was rising from a burst-open hole in the house.

Tonks staggered out, coughing. Her face – which was her usual Tonks-shaped face – was singed, and her pink hair was covered in brown slime.

Hestia ran to her and sprayed her down with water. Tonks rinsed out her mouth and spat a few times into the mud, while Hestia turned her attention to the house.

Tonks sank down onto her heels, steadying herself with her hands.

Dudley froze in place, still holding the pail of corn.

Petunia and Vernon stumbled out the kitchen door, sneezing and coughing.

POP!

POP!

Remus and Dedalus had returned.

They ran toward the house, wands raised.

"If you see any children who appear to be of school age," the Wireless chirped, "owl the Ministry at once. Better still, come in person to file an anonymous report."

From his place at the chicken run, Dudley could see the smoke twisting itself into a tube and whooshing out of the house, directed by the wind pouring from Hestia's wand. The smoke didn't disperse, but shot upwards into the sky, heading out toward the forest.

Vernon and Petunia raced toward him, both breathing heavily.

The hen with the spiky brown feathers poked at Dudley's boot and flapped her wings.

As Hestia and Dedalus levitated the bricks back to their places in the cottage wall, Remus returned to Tonks and offered her a hand. She stood and swore.

Her face was tense and drawn. "Nothing to fear, just exploded a cauldron and most of our bedroom."

"Are you alright?"

"Shielded myself in time, so, yeah. Just –" she looked at her bare wrist and said, "Tempus. Yeah. Got a few more hours before twilight, so there's enough time, but I'll have to fetch another cauldron from the attic, and I'm not sure… I'm not sure why the damn thing exploded. All the ingredients are inert enough."

Remus looked up at the moon. "That note of Snape's could have been a trap. Or just a false start – we don't know when he wrote it, or if that's what he really used in brewing. I appreciate you trying, but it's not worth the danger, I think."

Dudley busied himself looking at the hens, while his parents, who had their slippers on, whispered to each other, muffled by the sound of the unending tuba music.

"Snape and that dungeon of his…" Tonks said after a while. "Is that where he brewed it for you?"

"Yes. But it doesn't really matter. I've been transforming without it most of my life, and we can't afford to have you figuring it out in the dark. We have a week, and I can fix up an enclosure at our place enough to -"

"No! I'm brewing this for you. You've been on edge ever since I told you about the baby, and I know you'll never feel safe unless I –"

"Risk another explosion? It's not worth it, Dora."

Vernon muttered, "She'll kill us all, mark my words. And my slippers are soaked clean through in this muck!"

"Snape's dungeon... The dungeon! What if it's that simple, Remus? No moonlight, no sunlight either, obviously, but that's beside the point." Dora began to pace between the holly bushes. "There's no place in the house hasn't been touched by moonlight, though. Not even the bloody attic. Got to be free of moonlight, maybe … "

Dudley's mouth went dry.

Someplace with no moon.

Someplace dark.

He didn't want to interrupt the Lupins' conversation, far preferring the increasingly furious brown hen.

Dedalus saved him by bouncing up to the Dursleys. "Ah! Dursleys! How delightful to see you all enjoying the beautiful outdoors!" He glanced at the agitated Lupins. "Hestia has just done me the great kindness of securing my beloved homestead against all intruders. Would you be so kind as to come along for a tour?"

"We'd be delighted," Petunia said at once. Indeed, even if it consisted of a smouldering pile of industrial waste, it would come as a welcome relief after weeks of confinement to the cottage and its surrounding acreage.

"If you insist, Diggle," Vernon said. "If you insist." His eyes gleamed with excitement.

"Cupboard," said Dudley.

"Splendid! Beg pardon, Dudley?"

"Cupboard. Tell – Tonks – our cupboards. The ones Hestia made."

"Yes? What about them?"

"No windows. And we haven't opened 'em since..." Dudley couldn't remember the precise day his father had last frequented the cupboard under the stairs. "Well, a while, anyway."

Dedalus beamed and wrung Dudley's hand. "Try the cupboards!" he called out to the Lupins. "The ones under the stair."

He turned back to the Dursleys. "Are you ready, then? The dear old place is in a right state, as you may imagine, but I would love the chance to show it off. We just need Hestia to tell you where it is."

Hestia yawned again as she dusted mortar and crumbled brick off her legs.

"The Fidelius isn't twenty minutes old, Dedalus!" She shook her head and rubbed at her eyes with a grimy hand. "I don't like it. What if I did something wrong? We ought to wait a week or so, make sure Death Eaters don't get to it again. They broke our wards before."

"You did it perfectly, my dear! Masterfully performed!" Dedalus straightened his top hat and tugged his waistcoat back into place. "No other witch in dear old Albion could have done it better."

Hestia's cheeks glowed pink as she stifled a smile. "You're too kind, really."

"Besides, what better way to test your ability as Secret Keeper than to share it?"

She laughed outright. "Not much of a Secret Keeper, if I'm sharing it within the hour."

Dudley hung back, too nervous to speak. It was the closest anyone had come to agreeing to letting them go anywhere.

"There's got to be a limit, you know," Hestia continued. "We all know what happened with H.Q. when Dumbledore was killed. He'd told so many of us – by necessity, I grant you – that with all of us as Secret Keepers, the power of that charm was stretched mighty thin. Yaxley and co. wouldn't have got in, else."

Lupin and Tonks were still arguing over by their Reparo'd bedroom window.

"It'd just be the Dursleys," Dedalus said. "And me, of course. And you. And the Lupins. And the Weasleys might be nice to have round, once the place is up to its old splendour. And—"

"And Mundungus, I suppose? And Snape, for the odd game of Wizard's Chess?" she laughed. "You ought to have a good think, Dedalus. The War could stretch on and on – you ought to be quite deliberate how many and whom you choose to include in your little circle of protection. Wasting three spots on the Dursleys…"

Petunia clicked her teeth at this slight, and Dudley wasn't sure whether he should try to shrink and look innocuous or straighten his posture to look like a model houseguest. His hands tightened around the pail, while the brown hen flapped up onto its rim and nearly fell inside it.

"But they're Muggles, you know! It's not as if they could Disapparate away and betray the Secret. I've already thought a good deal about this, Hestia, and I must insist – no, implore – you to share the Secret of where my home is with myself and the Dursleys."

"That'd be five, though. If I'm killed–"

"Heavens forbid," Dedalus cautioned, "but if you were, there'd be only the four of us left knowing it."

"What about the Lupins and Weasleys and all those others you mentioned?"

Dudley held his breath. Could Dedalus really intend to favour the Dursley family over everyone else?

"Well … perhaps we can see about adding the others, in time." Dedalus dropped his voice to what he must think a whisper. He was a trifle hard of hearing, and his high-pitched voice was still clear to Dudley. "You know what happened with Sirius, cooped up in that house for so long. We can't afford for Harry Potter's relatives to end up the same…" He looked round his shoulder at the Lupins. "And – please don't mention this to Remus or Tonks – but now that I think of it, it might not be such a bad idea to take the Dursleys someplace that Remus can't find. On the full moon, you know. And to give Tonks a little breathing room in case of more – accidents."

Hestia blushed again and glanced at the Lupins, who didn't seem to have noticed. She sighed. "Could we give it at least twenty-four hours? Please? I know it's your house, and I'll tell you of course, directly, but – as for anyone else, I'd much rather wait at least that long."

Dedalus bowed. "I defer to you, General Jones."

"Oh!" she swatted at him. "Don't you call me that! You know, Dedalus, I think the Dursleys are getting to you."

Petunia and Vernon each gave Dudley's arm a little squeeze.

6:45 p.m.

Dudley rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them after a long afternoon tramping about the fields, then lingering in the owl tower. All three Dursleys had been too nervous to stay in the house while Tonks attempted the Wolfsbane Potion in Dudley's old cupboard. At long last, Dedalus had given them the good news that she was finished for the day, that Remus had drunk the Potion with no apparent ill effect, and that dinner was ready.

Romuald Smith's tuba music – now duets rather than solos – played at a low volume as everyone ate.

"Have you decided on a name, for the baby?" Petunia asked.

"No, not yet," Tonks said. Her smile was relaxed and there was no hint of her usual impatience in her voice. She patted Remus' hand and said, "But, we have plenty of time."

"OH!" Dudley said. "I forgot! I came up with some great names for your baby."

Remus turned to him with a crooked smile. "Really, Dudley? Do tell."

"Yeah, so, you know how my nickname's "Deadly" and he's "Deadliest?" Dudley jerked a thumb at Dedalus.

"We could hardly forget," Hestia said. "What with you shouting the names every time either of you walk into a room."

"Yeah, yeah, so the thing is, who's going to be 'Deadlier?' So, it's the perfect chance!" Dudley's heart raced. "Lots of ways to do it. For starters, there's Dudley Remus. If it's a boy. Dudley R. Deadlier. See?"

"Thank you for including me," Remus said. It looked like he was trying not to laugh.

Dudley plunged ahead, nervous that he'd forget if he didn't say all the names right off. "Yeah, so then if it's a girl, there's Dahlia. Not as good, but still close. Or Delia. Whatever. Same, really. Course you could call her Cordelia, and then shorten it, but…"

"It's a boy," said Tonks. "So—"

"Brilliant," Dudley said, relieved. "Makes it all easier, then."

"We're not naming him after you," she said. "But thanks for the suggestions."

"It wouldn't be after me," Dudley said, "it'd just be – you know, you like the name, coz it's a good name, a real classic, and you want it for your kid, because it – it's got 2 D's in it, and – Deadlier…"

"We'll name our son," Tonks said, "and you can name the hens after yourself, or anybody you like."

"They're all girls, though," Dudley said. "Can't name a girl Dudley."

"The hens won't care what you call them," Hestia said.

"There's always the classic 'Dudley-a' you could try," said Remus. This time, he went ahead and laughed at his own joke.

Petunia looked rather fed up with the conversation. "Really, Tonks, how can you know it's a boy at this stage of the pregnancy?" She fiddled with her fork before continuing. "My sister didn't know so early."

Harry, thought Dudley. His aunt must have had this kind of conversation at some point, with her own friends. About whether Harry was a boy or a girl, and what he should be called. Dudley wondered what Harry would have been named if he'd have been a girl. Maybe Harriet.

Tonks shrugged. "Metamorphmagus thing, I reckon. I just knew, same way I realized I was pregnant. I tend to know more than the average person about what's going on in my body. Don't need to look in a mirror to know what color my hair is, that sort of thing."

"But how fascinating," Dedalus said. "I never knew there was so much to your talent."

"Yeah, we're rare, anyway." She stared into her glass. "Figured it all out on my own, mostly. I'll be able to help our kid, if he's a Metamorphmagus, too."

"Does it hurt?" Dudley asked. "Changing?"

"Nah." She smiled down at the table. "Well, not physically, anyway."

Dudley was confused.

"Dahlia is a rather pretty name," Dedalus said. "How about using that for the yellow hen?"

"Yeah, sounds good."

"We'll go out tomorrow morning and name all of them." Dedalus straightened his cravat pin. "It'll be useful, won't it, Hestia? If the hens have names? Easier to make sure they're all laying well, eating right, that sort of thing?"

"Just don't name any after me," she said. "I don't fancy hearing complaints that Hestia's a bad layer, or that Hestia's gone and pecked the other hens, or that Hestia's moulting and looks a fright."

9 October 1997. 6:40 a.m.

"Ready, Deadly?"

"Yeah, I've just got to finish tying my bootlaces. Let's go, Deadliest!"

The hens in their coop clucked softly as the members of the Triple-D club rustled through the straw to collect their eggs.

"I think this one looks like an Elspeth," Dedalus said. "There was a girl in my class with feathers just this shade of russet brown."

"Elspeth it is, then." Dudley racked his brains for names that weren't too childish. Beaky. Flappy. Clucky.

The hen with spiky brown feathers flapped at him and tried to peck his fingers.

"Sarah Connor."

"What's that?"

"Sarah Connor. From Terminator 2." Dudley looked around the hen coop. "And that other brown hen, the sweet one, she can be Sarah Connor from Terminator 1."

"You've lost me there, I'm afraid," Dedalus told him. "But I can see you're excited."

"How about Valeria, for the skinny yellow one?"

"I had an Aunt Valeria. Formidable woman." Dedalus counted up the eggs. "Scolded me quite often."

"So – no?"

"Oh, I think every stern aunt deserves a namesake, don't you? I had six of them, two on my mother's side, four on my father's side."

"What were their names?"

"Well, there was Valeria – she was a Slytherin, and never let me forget it. Iris, her sister, was a Gryffindor, and they fought like cats and dogs. Only thing they agreed on was what a disappointment I was. Hortensia, Edith, and Damaris were in Ravenclaw, like me, though they quite disapproved of my NEWT courses. And my youngest aunt, Poppy, was in Hufflepuff. I liked her, though she was strict about sweets. She's still at Hogwarts, in fact. Runs the Hospital Wing."

"Want to name the rest of the hens after all your aunts, then? Those are good names."

"If it doesn't bother you, to only name the three. Dahlia and the Sarah Connors. Or is it Sarahs Connor?"

"Doesn't bother me – I don't really like coming up with names," Dudley said.

Dedalus smiled and tucked his hands up under his waistcoat. "I surmised as much. Well, we'll have to drop one name, because we've picked out ten, and there's only nine hens. Do help me pick which name goes to which hen, and we'll bring these eggs in for breakfast."

After breakfast, Hestia held out a note for the Dursleys to read: "The home of Dedalus Diggle is located at Number 6 Ridgeway Court, Margate, Kent." Once they'd all read it, she set the note on fire. My lucky number, Dudley thought.

"We can each take one of you," she said, "and come back for the third. What order would you like?"

"You know – I'm not sure I'm feeling well today," Petunia said. "Much as I appreciate the offer, would it be alright if I stayed in this morning? And went later, perhaps?"

"Naturally! Please do take a rest."

"Are you sure, Petunia?" Vernon asked. "You – you sure you'll be alright here – with her setting off explosions underneath you?"

"She's not doing all that until the afternoon," Petunia said.

"We won't be staying long," said Hestia. "Got to get back here, you know, keep on with the books."

There were still two shelves of books to get through, but Dudley didn't mind the thought of reading and transcribing. He couldn't help smiling, even though it wasn't cool. He tugged his sleeves down, trying to cover his wrists, and reached out to take Hestia's arm.

"Hold tight, mind. And when we get there, do aim away from my shoes, if you need to vomit."

With a whoosh and a gut-wrenching twist, Dudley spun through some sort of unseeable hyperspace, flipped inside out and backwards, ending up in a bright October morning filled with the sound of seagulls.

23 June 2020. 11:32 a.m.

"Just a little detour," Dudley said over his shoulder as he pulled into the drive of St. John's Cemetery.

He couldn't let his fortieth birthday pass without a visit.

The thick yew trees near the entrance gave way to a green sward dotted with grey and black tombstones, shaded by massive oaks. Dudley rolled the window down and let the sound of bird song drift into the car, which he guided around the curves of the twisting road with a familiarity borne of many visits.

In a few moments, he had pulled over in front of Dedalus Diggle's grave.

It was a family plot, which included stones for Dedalus' long-dead sister, parents, and grandparents.

My father liked Muggles. He met the nicest man one day, who convinced him to buy a plot in the new cemetery that had just opened in Margate on some old farmland. He was a persuasive man, my father. Got my grandparents to agree to be buried there, instead of Hogsmeade.

Dudley crouched at the white marble tombstone and wiped a few imaginary leaves away from the grave. The grass at Dedalus' grave always stayed clear, but he liked to think he was helping, anyway.

I want to be buried there, Dedalus had said, wiping his lips carefully on a lilac handkerchief. If there's anything to bury, that is.

You're not going to get killed, Deadliest.

I don't intend to, Dudley, but these things do happen in war, you know. Never fear, though. I'll make them work for it.

The tombstone was simple. Dedalus Diggle, 4 May 1919 - 2 May 1998

Dudley had been furious when he saw it the first time he visited. It didn't seem to suit. Too plain. He'd closed his eyes and inhaled the sharp smell of cut grass and tried to calm himself. When he opened his eyes, he'd noticed the little twist of parchment, a scrap rolled up tight like a cigarette. Tucked into the soil around the tombstone, half-hidden by the grass. Never one to hold back his curiosity, Dudley had reached down, dusting it off, unrolling it. It was unsigned, and all it said was, "Thank you for saving me." He'd re-rolled it and tucked it back against the stone.

Paper would have fallen apart, disintegrating in the wind and rain. Proper parchment – ordinary parchment – would be long gone. That little twist was still there, though, somehow protected from the elements.

The single scrap of parchment had multiplied over the years. Little twists now littered the earth, tucked in to the crevices of the site. They should have been visible from a few paces off, like cigarettes crowding round a park bench. Somehow, though, the grave always looked neat and trim, set off with mounds of phlox that bloomed well out of season.

There was one month of the year Dudley made a point to skip his sporadic visits to Margate. He never came in May, not for anything.

It was June now, so there were more notes than there'd been in April. Not as many as there had been two years back, after the twentieth anniversary, but enough to let Dudley know he'd been wise to avoid the place.

Dudley never brought notes himself. But then, he'd never been much of a writer.

"Dad? Can I do it, Dad?" Davianne asked.

"I want to!"

"Shut it, Dom. You don't even know what it is."

"Yes, I do – we were just here!"

"You can both have a turn, kids. No drinking, mind!" Dudley passed his daughter the bottle of sherry he kept in the boot. The cap didn't unscrew. It had a cork covered over with a wax film, which she pulled free after a moment's struggle.

She poured a little onto the grass in front of the headstone. "Thanks, Mr. Deadliest."

Dom sloshed some more out, then handed it back to Dudley with a grin.

As he always did, Dudley took a sip and shuddered dramatically. "Never knew how you could stand this stuff. Anyway, we're going to the beach. Hope you're having fun. Wish you were here."

Nicole squeezed his hand. The Dursleys all patted the tombstone and headed back to the car.

As Dudley doled out the hand sanitizer, he wished the stone had something more than a name and a pair of dates on it. It didn't seem enough.

Author's note: If you need a reminder of what's going on for Dudley's birthday, we last saw him in Chapter 16.