Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated characters and settings remain the intellectual property of JK Rowling and her associates. We are very grateful for permission to play with them.

Author's Notes: This was written for the lj comm dudley_redeemed in May of 2010. It was the second time I wrote for an lj fest, and I am still grateful to the mods for being patient with me throughout it. Beta'd by SeraphimeRising, additional thanks to bookaddict19 for handholding.

The Price

by Scribe Teradia

Sitting in the lobby of the Ministry of Magic, Dudley tried his best not to look nervous. After the first dozen or so pops and bangs that accompanied people appearing from nowhere and likewise disappearing into thin air, he managed to force himself not to twitch, but it took more effort than he was comfortable with. It didn't help that they all inevitably looked at him, no doubt wondering why he lingered in the lobby, as all of them were allowed entry once they'd presented their sticks for inspection. Wands, he corrected himself with a small frown of annoyance, trying to remember what other magical terms his cousin had let slip over the years. There weren't many, but it provided a useful distraction while he waited for... whatever it was he was waiting for.

He wasn't sure how long he waited; having glanced at his watch any number of times, he'd finally given up trying to keep track of the time after he caught the minute hand bouncing back and forth. Eventually, a door at the far end of the hall opened, and a woman with a vaguely familiar hairstyle emerged and began walking toward him. Dudley tried to remember her name (he'd only seen her twice before, and he'd never been good with names), but found it even harder to focus with the crushing weight of disappointment pressing in on his heart. She was still three feet away when he found his voice long enough to ask, "He's not coming, is he?"

She stopped, and the look on her face told him everything he needed to know. Growing up, he'd never had any luck reading expressions, mostly because he hadn't cared about anyone but himself. Over the last six months, he'd discovered that reading expressions was easier than he would have guessed, so he had some idea of what her response was going to be. "I'm sorry," she said, "it's not really a good time."

Schooling his features was a useless waste of time, but he gave the failed attempt a good ten-count anyway, to avoid snapping at her. "Suppose I should have known better," he finally said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Thanks for your time." The gratitude, at least, was sincere, before he turned away.

He was nearly to the door before he heard her call after him, "Wait." Dudley turned back to her fully, waiting as requested while she shifted from foot to foot and tried to decide what to do with him. "Do you drink tea?" she asked, after a full minute of lip-chewing indecisiveness.

"Yes." It came out uncertainly, but he cut himself short before he could ask her any questions. She would give him whatever information she felt necessary, and no more, and he would consider himself satisfied with whatever she said. More, he would be grateful that she had taken the time to bother with him at all, after his own cousin had rejected him.

"There's a tea shop over in Charing Cross, do you know it?" There was an air of anxiousness about her that suggested she was about to do something her friends would not approve of.

Dudley fought down the surge of hope that was almost more painful than the disappointment. "Yes."

She pulled back a sleeve and consulted what looked to be a watch, and Dudley wondered how she managed to get it to keep time, but he didn't ask. "I'm due for a break at half-ten. Could you meet me there?"

"Yes." She hadn't properly finished asking, and the haste of his reply startled her, but he didn't want her to think he was even a little reluctant. It wasn't that he was without doubts, he had plenty of those to spare, but he'd already exhausted all of his other options. Maybe this was a test, or some cruel wizarding joke, or maybe he'd been wrong in the first place for even thinking he could find answers with these people, but as he watched her walk away he knew he'd dance to whatever tune she called, so long as there was a chance that she could help him.

Hermione slipped out of the Leaky Cauldron and frowned at the sky. The forecasts had called for rain, but now she felt silly toting the vibrant umbrella Ron had thrust into her hands at the last minute, when there were barely any clouds in the sky. She ought to be grateful he hadn't asked where she was going, but she would have to talk to him at some point about his fondness for orange. As her steps carried her closer to the tea shop, she found herself wondering again what she was doing, meeting with Harry's oversized cousin behind his back.

The sky darkened abruptly, and she reached distractedly for the hideous umbrella, not knowing she was close to the wall until she ran into it. When it moved, she stepped back with a startled squeak, belatedly realizing that the person she'd run into was the man she was meeting. "Why are you out here?" she demanded, waving a hand to forestall explanation as she stepped around him. "Never mind. Come along, there isn't much time."

The tea shop was bright and cozy, with plush chairs and doilies on the tables, entirely feminine and the last place Ron or Harry would turn up. She walked briskly to her usual table and pulled out the chair, but remained standing to watch Harry's cousin pick his way over to her. He moved with care so as not to disturb anyone, more graceful than she would have guessed given his size and what little she knew about him. She would never have expected him to display manners, either, but he waited for her to sit before pulling out his own chair, and kept his voice lowered as he said, "I'm sorry, I can't remember your name."

"Granger. Hermione Granger." He looked awkward and uncomfortable and out of place, and she reminded herself she wasn't allowed to feel sorry for him, however pathetic he appeared. "And you're Dudley Dursley. Harry's cousin."

Dudley winced, but it was hard for her to tell if it was her sharp tone or the reminder of his cousin that had caused the reaction. "Dudley, yes, that's me. I don't expect you've heard much about me. From Harry, I mean."

"I've heard enough." She was hanging onto civility by a very narrow thread, and wondered again why she was even interceding after Harry had told her to dismiss him. Well, Harry had asked because he knew better than to issue orders. She shook her head and changed the subject. "What were you hoping to get from Harry?" she asked.

The question obviously came as a shock, perhaps because she'd been so blunt, but she'd never liked word games and verbal sparring, preferring to get down to business, as it were. "It's Mum," he finally replied, looking squarely back at her. "She's... sick." He delayed the utterance of the final word as though by delaying he could stave off the inevitable a little longer.

"What is it, exactly, you were hoping Harry could do?"

"I don't know," he said honestly. "It's just... she's been to any number of doctors, and none of them can figure what's wrong. I thought, maybe one of your lot could find something." She must have given something away, some disdain for his careless phrasing ("your lot," indeed!), because his fingers gripped the edge of the table tighter. "Look, I wasn't expecting anything more than what I got, the brush-off. Harry's got no reason to help me, no reason to help Mum, but I had to try. She's my Mum."

He certainly sounded sincere, although Hermione doubted he'd be able to pull off an elaborate lie. Everything she knew about the Dursleys told her she should dismiss him, that Petunia Dursley deserved whatever suffering she got after the way she'd treated Harry. There was a moment of weighted silence in which she considered doing just that, but it passed, and she found herself asking instead, "What about your father?"

The dingy brownstone in Manchester was nowhere near as nice as the little house on Privet Drive had been. Waiting on the street, Dudley was convinced the neighbors would think him a thug and report him, but unlike the community of Little Whinging, the people here seemed not to care. He was resisting the urge to pace in front of the building when he heard a noise from the nearby alley that sounded suspiciously like the sounds that happened when magical folk appeared; he looked around to see if anyone else had heard it, but no one appeared to express any interest. Walking toward the side of the building, he peered around the corner and saw Hermione with a tall, reedy-looking bloke who looked quite put out.

"Manchester?" the bloke hissed, with a sneer on his face. "Why didn't you tell me they were living in bloody Manchester, Granger? It would have saved us the trouble of coming all the way out here."

"I didn't realize it would make a difference," the woman replied primly. "What's wrong with Manchester?"

"Can you help her?" Dudley asked, stepping the rest of the way around the corner once he realized he should make his presence known before they caught him eavesdropping.

The man muttered something unkind toward the woman, rounded on Dudley, and paused, surprise flickering across his face, though it quickly turned to suspicion. "What's this? Having a laugh at my expense, Granger? I thought you said it was Potter's relations who needed help."

"Precisely," said Hermione. She gestured between them with a hand and performed introductions. "Theodore Nott, Dudley Dursley. Dudley is Harry's cousin."

"Pleased to meet you," Dudley said, though he was far from feeling pleased. The hope that he'd tried so desperately to suppress earlier in the day was warring with the childhood fear of all things magic that he thought he'd rid himself of a long time ago.

"He's a Muggle," Theodore spat, stepping back and squaring his shoulders as if preparing for a fight. Dudley felt a sick dread in the pit of his stomach, knowing full well that he'd be utterly helpless if the wizard chose to use magic on him.

"That's enough, Theo." Hermione's voice was full of icy fury, and Dudley blinked at her in confusion. There seemed to be something else going on between them, and he had the sense that whatever it was might be over his head; he wondered again if he'd made a mistake asking for help from Harry's crowd, but decided he was better off not interrupting this time. "You agreed to help, remember? I expect you to be civil. It's not as if it's a secret that Harry's mother was Muggle-born, of course the rest of his family's going to be Muggle."

"Are you sure they're even related?" Hermione shot Theodore a venomous glare, and he raised his hands and backed up a step. "All right, no need to get your knickers in a twist, Granger. If you say he's cousins with Saint Potter, that's good enough for me."

Saint Potter? "Erm, you lot don't really call him that, do you?" Dudley asked nervously.

Theodore laughed as if it was the funniest thing he'd heard in years, while Hermione tossed her head and looked even more irritated, which Dudley would have thought impossible mere seconds ago. "Certain members of our community use the title as a joke among themselves," she explained. "Mostly those whose families didn't fare so well after the war." She allowed her companion another few seconds of merriment before waving a hand in his face. "Can we get off the street now? Then perhaps you can educate us on why Manchester is so bad, Theodore."

"Mum and Dad live just 'round the corner," Dudley volunteered, pointing back toward the sidewalk. "I haven't been in to see Mum yet, but Dad's still at work for a few more hours."

"Just a moment." Theodore had sobered, and he touched Hermione's arm to hold her back. "Take a breath, Granger," he instructed. "Let it out, take another. Get a feel for the place, remember what we discussed."

Dudley looked between the two of them, certain again that he was missing something, but he forced himself to be patient. It was not a virtue he possessed in large quantities, especially since he'd learned it so late in life, and it took effort not to fall back on his old habits. Bullying may have worked with his parents and cousin and the smaller children from his neighborhood, but things were different in the real world, Vernon Dursley notwithstanding.

"What is that?" Hermione finally asked, after what felt like an eternity of waiting to Dudley.

"Now we can go inside," Theo replied, giving Dudley a nod.

Still mystified, Dudley led the way into the building and to the door of his parents' flat, unlocking it with the key his mother had given him when they moved in. The silence was eerie, and he was shocked to see a cobweb in the corner of the hall; the faint odor of sweat and something less easily identifiable was in the air, and the hope finally stopped fluttering in his chest. He waited for both of them to pass him before closing the door, then edged around them, his back against the wall, calling out softly, "Mum?"

There was a sound from deeper in the flat, and he led the way through the rooms to his parents' bedroom, where he was surprised to find the door open. He was even more shocked at the sight of his mother, however, thinner than he'd ever seen her and very obviously emsick/em; for a moment he was terrified that they were too late, but then he noticed the shallow rise and fall of her chest that meant she was still breathing. Behind him, he sensed the others filling the doorway, and dimly registered Theodore saying, "I was afraid of this." Then he fainted.

When he came to, Dudley found himself in entirely unfamiliar surroundings, disoriented and confused. It took a few minutes for him to remember meeting Hermione and Theodore near his parents' flat, but with that memory came the agonizing dread that he'd felt upon seeing his mother. The room he was in seemed ordinary enough, but he had a nagging sense that something was off about it; fortunately, he was spared from having to investigate further by the sound of raised voices from the other side of the door.

The door opened with a bang, and Dudley cowered back away from it even before he registered that the figure in the doorway was Theodore. He fought down the terror and managed to straighten somewhat, then asked, "My mum, is she...?" He couldn't quite bring himself to finish the sentence.

"She's alive," Theodore replied, seating himself in a chair and gesturing for Dudley to do the same. "For now, at least. Her condition is still fairly critical, so we'll be monitoring her fairly closely for the next few hours."

"Hours?" Dudley couldn't help asking the question, because he was so used to the various doctors and specialists talking in terms of days and weeks. "So, you know what's wrong with her, then?"

"Your mother is suffering from a deficiency of magical energy." Dudley was sure the surprise was written all over his face, though Theodore didn't seem to react to it at all. "It's an extremely rare condition, virtually unheard of in our community, and I'm not entirely sure how much of it you'll be able to understand."

"Did you say m-magical energy?" He heard himself stumble over the words and grimaced.

"As I said, the condition is extremely rare. However, your mother has been around magic in some form for most of her life. Her sister was, from all accounts, an extremely capable witch, as is her nephew, your cousin. Additionally, there is evidence to suggest that the protections on your former home, the Privet Drive residence, were in place prior to Potter turning up on the doorstep. Given the family history, it's doubtful that either of your parents were aware the protections were there. In any case, the magical energy became a part of the environment, a background residue, and somehow your mother's physiology became dependent on it."

Dudley felt a flash of raw panic. "Is it... do I have it?" He knew it was wrong, to think in such selfish terms, but the question was out before he could stop it.

"The condition itself is not, so far as we know, passed along through family lines, so you should be fine. Though you might want to avoid following in your father's footsteps, just to be on the safe side."

It took Dudley a minute to put all the pieces together. "The move to Manchester, you mean? Is that what made Mum so sick, then?"

"It is, yes. Manchester is the equivalent of a magical sinkhole. Not only is there no ambient magical energy in the environment, but prolonged exposure to the area will drain latent magical energies. It's less of a concern to wizarding folk, we generate enough to make up the difference, but in your mother's case it made her ill."

"But you can fix it, right? You can make her better?" The hope was back, in spite of Dudley's efforts to contain it.

Theodore shrugged, spreading his hands in what Dudley had come to think of as the universal gesture for 'wait and see'. "Possibly. It's been six years since the War ended, and they've been living here all that time. According to her medical file, she started showing symptoms eighteen months ago, but this most recent decline has been more rapid, over the last six weeks."

Dudley decided it was best not to ask how the man had gotten hold of his mother's medical file, and simply nodded. "Yes. I'd thought about contacting Harry weeks ago, but Dad wouldn't hear of it."

"Provided she lives through the night, she'll have you to thank for saving her life." The words sent a chill through him, but Dudley managed not to shiver in spite of it. "Your father, will he be a problem?"

Dudley wasn't comfortable discussing such things in front of strangers, mostly out of habit, but when Theodore didn't seem at all inclined to let the question go, he finally sighed, "Probably."

When Hermione stormed into Harry's office and closed the door, he knew he was in trouble. He wasn't sure why, but he'd known her long enough to recognize the look on her face. "We need to talk," she said, further confirming his suspicions before tossing a file folder onto his desk.

Harry glanced at it out of habit. The name "Dursley, Petunia" was inked on it in Hermione's careful handwriting, and he flinched, pushing away from the desk and standing up. "No, we really don't."

"Read the file, Harry. I've been handling things to the best of my ability, but I don't have access to the resources you do."

Harry stared at her. "What are you talking about?" She was just as much a hero as he was, he'd made sure of that, along with Ron. He was on the verge of telling her that, too, when she stepped closer to his desk and gave him that look of hers that always made him feel like an idiot.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt's ear, specifically." Harry blinked at her and sat back down as she sighed in exasperation. "Really, Harry. This would be much easier if you'd just read the file."

"Why is there a file, Hermione?" Harry was aware that he was starting to sound like a petulant child, but he couldn't bring himself to care, not when the topic of conversation brought back every horrible memory of his childhood. "You were supposed to make this go away, remember?"

"Bollocks." Harry blinked at her again; Hermione almost never swore, and was constantly getting on Ron's case for doing so (Ron had taken to swearing like a duck to water, and by their second week of training had sounded like a veteran Auror). "If you'd really wanted it to go away, you would have sent Percy to deal with your cousin when he turned up here. You knew I would hear him out and make the decision whether or not to help him, and don't try pretending otherwise. The decision has been made, Harry, it's too late to back down now."

After she'd finished her speech, Harry was silent for a while. He half expected her to nag him about it, to pressure and push him, but she allowed him time to think, instead, and to his horror he found himself asking, "Why does it say Petunia on the file?"

Hermione sighed, but settled for taking a seat in one of the chairs on the other side of his desk. "She's the reason Dudley came to you. She'd been ill for a while, and it was getting worse. Her condition is quite serious, but I won't bore you with the particulars. Suffice it to say that she's still very weak, and will very likely need care for the rest of her life. Your cousin is willing to provide it, however there's an issue with Muggle law that needs to be dealt with."

Harry could scarcely believe what he was hearing. Not about his aunt's condition, but about Dudley's willingness to care for someone other than himself. He was so shocked by this that it took him a moment to process the rest of what Hermione had told him. "Muggle law? What kind of issue?" he finally asked.

Dudley had no idea what to expect when Theodore suggested it would be best for him to simply "disappear" with his mother. He'd spent two months in a wizarding home, in the company of magical folk, and every time he turned around they managed to find something else to surprise him with. When Hermione finally sat down with him to explain what would be involved, he very nearly hit the ground running and didn't look back. Except that it was what was best for his mum, and he had already promised himself that he'd do whatever he had to if it would help her.

It took the better part of a week for the paperwork to go through, and another week after that before Theodore finally appeared to tell him that it was time. There would be no erasing Lily Evans Potter from the wizarding world, but so far as the Muggle world was concerned, there had never been a Petunia Evans. She had never married Vernon Dursley, never had a son named Dudley, and never lived at a house on Privet Drive where she kept her nephew in a cupboard beneath the stairs for nine years. Dudley held his mother's hand as Theodore raised his wand to begin the painstaking process of altering her memory.

Afterward, Hermione helped them settle into the Muggle cottage at the edge of Theodore's property. Dudley knew he should have been relieved to be away from the magical world, but it felt too much like just another facade. His mother's condition had improved, but she would need to remain close to magic for the rest of her days, and he found himself keeping track of the miles, whenever he travelled, wondering if someday he'd go far enough away to find himself in a similar situation.

It took six months for Harry to work up the nerve to ask to see them, though Dudley supposed he ought to be grateful for that, too. He met his cousin on the front step, pulling the door closed behind himself as he stared down at the face he hadn't seen outside of his nightmares for years.

"How is she?" Harry asked, after the formalities of greeting were over with.

"She's all right. Today's been a good day." Awkward silence descended, and Dudley shook himself as if trying to shake it off. "How much have they told you?"

"Not much," Harry admitted. "I know she was sick, but not any of the details, or the treatment."

"She doesn't remember you," Dudley told him bluntly. "If you're looking for an apology, you won't get it. She doesn't remember you, or your mum, any of that."

More awkward silence. "What about you?" Harry finally asked, though Dudley wished he hadn't.

"No," he replied, quietly. "She never would have accepted this, you know that. Rely on magic? Leave Dad? It's better, this way."

"Sure about that, are you?"

"She's alive, isn't she? It counts for something, doesn't it?"

"But to not remember-"

"Wouldn't you have done it, too?" Harry looked as though Dudley had hit him, but he didn't care, bulling his way forward. "Paid any price, if it meant seeing your mum? She doesn't remember I'm her son, but she knows I care for her, and in her own way she still cares for me, too. It's worth the price, so long as she's here." He finally had to stop talking, if only because he was near tears, and he'd be damned if he let Harry see him cry.

After several minutes of them staring at each other, Harry finally sighed. "Can I see her?"

"Why?" Dudley was on his guard again, mostly because Hermione had explained in rather exacting detail how fragile his mother's mental state was. Not that he was going to say as much to Harry.

"She's still family." Harry looked just as surprised at his own words as Dudley felt, hearing them. "A thing like this, it sort of puts that into perspective, doesn't it? You two are the only real family I have left, and maybe... maybe it's time to figure out what that means."

Dudley felt as though a great weight had been lifted from his chest, and he nodded, turning to open the door. "Just a short visit, this time, though." He turned back to his cousin, and together they walked through the open doorway.

The End