Hiding out in Winnipeg with fake names and disguises had not agreed with his parents. The strengths of the idea were undeniable; it was so low in the list of places they would have considered moving to that its entry was almost negligible, the city was dense enough nobody noticed the introduction of three new people or checked up on their lies, and it was far enough away from the frontline of the war that they should be able to avoid becoming incidental collateral damage. Still, the sound of them criticising the indignity of it, the accents, the cultural differences, everything was like a daily reminder that this must be some form of purgatory; at the end of it, they'd either have to go deeper underground, or would be able to return to their usual monotone lives. Dudley had found himself wandering off as often as he could, following the concrete paths as they snaked passed rivers and parks and buildings indiscriminately, alone with his thoughts and life. The walks were sometimes boring and always painful, but at the same time felt long overdue. He often thought about his cousin, about whether he was still alive and where he was and how their lives had, unnoticed, shifted from Dudley riding the highs of consumerism while Harry wallowed in misery to Harry attempting to outlive a vicious tyrant while Dudley hid like a startled mouse. Days and weeks and months stacked up like a Lego wall separating them from their old lives until Dudley started to fear that the war would never end. News had been scarce after the first few weeks – there had been confirmation that the Ministry of Magic had indeed been infiltrated, and the final communication from the tired-looking academic type with the Roman name was that they would refrain from sending messages until the situation was stable so as not to give the Death Eaters bread crumbs to follow.

One day, however, news came. The haunted, strangely garbed person standing on the doorstep wasn't the scarred man they'd expected, but rather a sombre-looking witch. She tested the wards and confirmed it was them before introducing herself and explaining that there had been a battle at the school and Voldemort was dead.

"Why isn't the man here? He said he would be the one to come fetch us. Just like you lot, changing your plans and expecting us to just accept it. I expect compensation for this – this inconvenience. I haven't been paid for months! We've been living on our hard-earned savings due to some little folly you lot got yourselves into…" His father ranted, glaring at the woman as if he expected promises and contracts and heartfelt apologies.

Dudley would have expected that once, too, or would have at least been waiting in amusement for the stranger to capitulate to his father's wishes, but now he was too concerned with what she hadn't said. "What about Harry? He's alright, isn't he?"

She turned to him, weariness seeming to seep out of each line of her face, before saying, "Your cousin is alive. He and his friends hunted down Voldemort's defences over the past few months, and recently returned to Hogwarts to destroy the last of them, as well as Voldemort himself. He will be fine." He smiled in relief, and her lips seemed to tug upwards ever so slightly in recognition and response.

"Yes, yes, that's good, the boy did his job, but this kept me from mine…"

All evidence of softness disappeared from her face, and when she turned back to Vernon Dursley her face was a hard mask of blank metal and voice as terse as a slap to the face. "To answer your earlier question, Remus Lupin and his wife gave their lives in the battle two nights ago; that is why he is not here. Furthermore, we offered you a service for your protection. We will not be compensating you for ensuring your safety. If your primary concern was your income, you should have remained in England and hoped no one noticed you."

Despite his father's slew of protests, she remained as steadfast as a rock face. The argument only ceased when Petunia quietly asked if they might return to Privet Drive and she and Dudley, the witch in tow, went off to have tea and pack while Vernon fumed by himself.

"Would you like me to assist magically?"

Petunia looked as if she'd swallowed a lemon, but agreed almost immediately, wanting to be on her way home as soon as she could manage it.

"I forgot your name," Dudley said, somewhat shyly, as they watched the woman change pieces of paper into cardboard boxes with a complicated swish of her wand and then, with a simpler swish, command pieces of furniture, appliances and sundry items to whirl around the room as they raced to get inside the enclosures, almost like a dog running home.

"Minerva McGonagall. I am the Transfiguration professor at Hogwarts." After a moment, she added in a slightly conceding tone, "That means that I focus on changing one thing into another, such as a feather into a coat or a matchstick into a table."

"Sounds useful."

"It can be very useful. You may call me Minerva."

"Are his followers in prison?" Petunia asked.

"Mostly. We are still rounding up a few who weren't at the battle or who escaped in the turmoil or rejoicing, but I daresay that won't be too difficult. Strangely enough, people who join a cause for cowardly reasons seem particularly prone to doing whatever they can to protect their hides when their cause fails. A number of the surviving Death Eaters have already indicated that they would like to make a deal, and it's only a matter of which one the acting Minister will deem most profitable."

"Is it safe to return home, then? If they're still out there…"

"I will set up more wards for your protection. We can remove them once all of the Death Eaters are rounded up if you wish, but they should also protect you from Muggle burglars, so I would recommend leaving them up. They will stop any ill-intentioned intruders and inform all of you, as well as me, of the attempted break-in. If you ever see anybody suspicious away from your home, you can contact your neighbour Arabella Figg – she knows how to get into contact with me."

"That sounds accept…" Petunia's voice petered off, and she instead said with a surprising amount of sincerity, "Thank you. For getting us here, for coming to get us, for the wards, and for looking after Harry over the years."

They were back in England, bottoms sore from colliding with the ground after the Portkey stopped, before the sun set for the night.

-d-h-

After the shock at the discovery had finally faded, things had gone back to normal; Vernon went to work to sell drills, Petunia spied on their neighbours, Dudley went to school, and they said nothing about their freakish, supposedly insane relative.

Except it didn't feel normal. Vernon was constantly aware that there had been a potential threat that he couldn't tell his co-workers about, Petunia found herself pondering how insufficient an explanation the statement 'he's alive and will be fine' really is, and Dudley couldn't look at Piers without thinking about the green-eyed boy they used to torment together and wondering whether he would ever come back to his childhood home.

It took a few months of weakening friendships and growing anxieties until Dudley walked down the street, hands fiddling with one another anxiously, and banged the cat-shaped knocker against the dark brown door. He had once again almost talked himself into running away and hiding in the bushes like a common prankster, but the sole thought that he didn't want to never see his cousin again kept him there until his neighbour's eye peered through the peephole, the door opened, a cat came darting out and down the street, and he didn't really have a choice anymore anyway.

"Dudley," she said, her concern evident. "Come in, come in. Close the door. Did anyone follow you?"

The boy glanced behind him in confusion as he stepped over the doorstep, that possibility having never occurred to him. "No… I don't think so."

"Did something happen?" Mrs Figg asked as she swung the door closed and secured the lock.

Dudley's gaze was caught by the strange view of three pairs of eyes standing in a row, the bodies attached to them contorted in the way that cat bodies often are but their piercing gazes almost identical. It took some effort to pull his own focus away from them and back to the worried woman. "No, but McGonagall said you were able to contact her. Could you contact Harry?"

Her very frame seemed to ease at his response; clearly she'd expected that a visit instigated by him meant that something bad had to have happened to spook him over there. "Well, I have an owl, don't I? Of course I can. Did you bring you letter with you? No? I'll just get you some parchment and a quill. Would you like something to eat while you write?"

"Er, no, thank you. Just the letter stuff would be great."

-d-h-

When the first letter came, Harry didn't know what to do. He'd recognised his cousin's untidy handwriting immediately and had fished it out of the pile of letters from classmates and strangers alike to stare at it in shock. His cousin had had a change of heart the last time he'd seen him, and McGonagall had said he'd sounded contrite when she spoke to him, but he had never expected the self-centred boy to try to contact him; to be nice to him if they by chance saw one another, sure, but not to initiate contact.

The letter itself, short but genuine, shocked him even more. Dudley sounded cautious but sincere, and parts of it read as if they were actually friends. Dudley wanted to see him, and had asked whether Harry could take him to buy an owl so that he was able to send letters without going through their neighbour and being swarmed by a horde of beady-eyed contortionist cats.

Harry couldn't remember Dudley ever joking with him before, at least not when Harry wasn't the butt of the joke; he had to reread that sentence a few times to even believe it was intended as a jest.

It was tempting. Harry had always just wanted the Dursleys to welcome him like the family member he was, and Dudley appeared to finally be, albeit a little timidly, offering that to him. Still, it might not work out, which would just send his mood spiralling down again when he'd only recently started feeling more secure emotionally; he didn't want to get his hopes up for something that might be too little way too late. It wasn't as if the cousins would even have anything in common to talk about, and neither had ever had much regard for the other's interests.

It took Harry almost a whole day of distraction to decide what his response would be, and then another hour to get the wording right.

-d-h-

It was as if no time at all had passed since Harry last stood on that patch of road. The lawn, the garden, the house itself… It all looked the same, so neatly and primly up-kept, and it was nearly enough to send him back to a time in which he'd be keeping an eye out for his uncle or for Dudley's gang, wary of shouted insults or piercing pain. It was as if the only thing that had changed was Harry himself, the boy who was never supposed to be there to begin with.

But that's what makes the difference, he thought. Dudley promised they would be out today, but I'm allowed to cast magic outside of school now, and I'm willing to. And tonight, or whenever I'm done here, I'll go back home. I won't let it be like that ever again.

Reassured, he strode up to the door in a facsimile of confidence far greater than that which he felt, and rapped his knuckles against it as if it were Ron or Hermione behind that door awaiting his arrival.

The door opened before the sound of Harry's first knock died away, revealing his cousin standing in the doorway looking a little nervous and, somehow, a lot older. "Hullo Harry."

"Dudley."

"Dad's at work, and Mum's at Janice's. Do you want to come in or get going?"

"We'll need to leave from inside so we can't be seen."

"Alright." Dudley stepped aside so he could walk through the door, and Harry led the familiar way into the living room. "How have you been?"

"Alright," Harry said shortly, before considering the situation. He knew he didn't owe Dudley anything, but he'd decided that if Dudley wanted to work towards friendship, he would try too. It were as if he were zinc and Dudley were copper; Dudley might need to put the most effort into this, but Harry needed to contribute as well if they were going to produce a brass alloy. Giving one-word, shallow answers wasn't exactly working towards that. "It's been tough. Some good people died in the war."

"I'm sorry about that. Minerva mentioned that the man who was our contact person – Lupin? I think? – and his wife died. Did you know them?"

"Yeah. I met Lupin third year – when I was thirteen, that is – and Tonks – his wife – two years later. Lupin was one of my dad's best friends, and Tonks was… Well, she was energetic and had a way of making people feel comfortable and welcome. Their son Teddy's my godson." Harry could tell that Dudley wasn't sure what to say to that, and felt sorry for being quite so open. Sharing things was one thing, but overwhelming his cousin with his sorrow when Dudley was so inexperienced at dealing with other people's emotions was another. "Sorry for going on like that. I just… Yeah, I knew them pretty well."

"It's alright. I want to know." Dudley fidgeted, before adding, "The memories can't be easy." At Harry's surprised look, he said awkwardly, "Someone from school said his grandfather fought in World War 1 and still has nightmares. I borrowed a book on that trauma disease – "

That was a surprise. Harry surreptitiously cast a spell to test the wards, but they hadn't been tampered with; this was Dudley, right enough, however peculiarly he was behaving. "PTSD?"

"Yeah, that. I was going to read them before you came, but… I've never really liked reading, so I just skimmed it."

"My world doesn't have psychologists, so nobody's been diagnosed, but there's probably a few of us struggling with that," Harry admitted. He considered stopping there, but wanted to make sure Dudley understood what actually happened. The memory of his cousin teasing him about Cedric still stung; if there was a chance of him having to deal with his issues in front of Dudley again, he wanted Dudley to at least understand that there was a good reason for it. "Like I said, we lost people, people I've known since I was eleven, and… well, it was a war, so we killed people too."

"I figured that you would have. It's not the same, but I used to play war games; either you killed people or they killed themselves, because otherwise you wouldn't have made it through alive."

"Yeah."

"How are your friends? Ron and, er, the girl, Her…"

"Ron and Hermione. They both got hit pretty hard – they were on the frontline too, as was Ron's family, so they saw it all – but they're alive and getting better. Same with Ginny, my girlfriend."

"That's something," Dudley said, looking awkward again now that that train of thought was reaching its natural end and they were faced with the potential return of the sense of restricting silence.

"Nah," Harry disagreed. "That's everything."

-d-h-

"Are you sure about this?" Dudley asked, eyeing the green powder with scepticism and distrust.

Harry didn't want to Side-Along with Dudley unless he had to, knowing how bad of an introduction to his world that would be, and the Dursleys' fireplace was still built in, and he didn't want to even think of dealing with getting Dudley on a broom, so they'd gone to Mrs Figgs' house to use her fireplace. "Positive. Just make sure you enunciate clearly. If you do, there shouldn't be any problem."

"There won't be, boy," Mrs Figgs said. "The fireplace is only connected to The Burrow and St Mungo's, so if Harry goes through and finds that you aren't at the right place, he'll know to Apparate over to the hospital to fetch you."

"Mrs Weasley said she'd wait for you on the other side," Harry said. "When you see a woman with red hair, step out of the fireplace."

"If you're sure." Dudley threw the powder into the fireplace and watched in awe as the flames flashed a brilliant green, before taking a deep breath and stepping in before he could talk himself out of it. "The Burrow!"

And he was whisked away.

Something brushed up against Harry's leg, and he flinched. "Meow."

"Right," Harry said, stepping away from the tabby cat. "I should follow him, make sure he's got there safely… Don't want him to wind up at St Mungo's…" He threw his own supply of Floo powder into the crackling flame and stepped inside, only to be whisked away himself.

Harry arrived to the sound of Dudley repeating, "I'm alright," while Mrs Weasley appeared to be trying to get him to sit down.

"What's wrong?"

"Harry dear, your cousin won't let me fix his ankle. He sprained it when he fell out of the fireplace."

Dudley blushed, but Harry said reassuringly, "You did better than I did my first time. Would you rather I looked at it?"

Dudley shifted his weight and winced at the sensation that shot through his leg. "Yes, please."

Healing Dudley was a strange experience. His patient didn't appear outwardly frazzled by the fact, but the very idea of having his wand out around his cousin was so antithetical by then that it felt as if Harry were doing something he shouldn't.

"Will you be back for lunch?"

"Er, I think that might be a bit much too soon," Harry said, before adding to Dudley, "Weasley lunches can be a bit intense if you're not used to magic."

"Or noise," Mrs Weasley added.

"Sit down and stick your foot out." Harry knelt and took Dudley's foot in his hands, feeling around softly until he worked out where the injury was. "Reparo." Looking up at his tense cousin, he asked, "Is that better?"

The foot wiggled cautiously in his hands, and its owner nodded. "It is. That was amazing. Thank you."

Harry grinned. "You get used to quick healing after a while. It makes Muggle medicine seem pretty primitive in comparison, let me tell you, even if a lot more effort went into finding work-arounds. Come on, back into the fireplace. We're going to go from here to The Leaky Cauldron. If you feel uncomfortable for any reason while I'm still coming through, go to the counter and ask for Tom and he'll help you."

"Alright," Dudley said, and the process started again.

-d-h-

"Thanks for agreeing to this," Dudley said as they arrived back at Privet Drive, both boys holding a Disillusioned cage at their sides. Harry hadn't had the heart to buy another pet since Hedwig's death, but once inside the pet shop he hadn't been able to resist. The owl Dudley chose, a tawny and placid owl the shopkeeper assured them would give him no trouble, had a sister, a small and mischievous owl who had been the runt of their litter and who was facing the likelihood of spending the rest of her life in that busy shop, and Harry had fallen for her as soon as he saw the playful look in her eye. It also felt right to have this link to Dudley, as if it might somehow help their reconciliation. "I'd have understood if you didn't want to."

"Of course I want to," Harry said. He tried to think of why, to give Dudley an actual reason rather than just a reiteration of fact, but all he could come up with was, "You're my cousin."

-d-h-

Most of their communication was through the post. They weren't ready for regular face-to-face interaction yet, and even if they had been their lives wouldn't have allowed much of it. Harry's time was torn between Auror training and his friends, while Dudley had to focus on finishing school and applying for work; while he was assured a position at Grunnings, he didn't really want it, although he wasn't sure exactly what he did want. Sometimes it was shallow, sometimes it was surprisingly deep, but they were always working together towards something more.

There were times when the memories got to be too much and Harry considered stopping altogether, but then there were other times when the sight of that familiar tawny owl carrying the little white envelope felt like an anchor to a life in which everyone viewed him as 'just Harry' and things were a lot simpler.

-d-h-

Everyone expected lightning and thunder fanfare to accompany what they thought would be the wedding of the century. There was no way any self-respecting gossip journalist would miss it, and Harry had the wealth to indulge any and all dreams Ginny might have ever had about the day. Rumours placed the wedding to be likely to happen on the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch on the anniversary of the day Harry saved Ginny from the basilisk, with the grounds reserved for people Harry and Ginny had met over the years while the stadiums contained members of the public who wanted to celebrate with them; it was unheard of to have a wedding at Hogwarts, but that was where they'd grown up, after all, and if the rules were to be bent for anyone it would be for them. The speculations got so intense that many people even believed that this information had come from the couple themselves and so made sure they were available that day to attend. Most people realised this to be false, even though they wished it to be true, and were eagerly awaiting news about what the actual plans were.

Of course, they hadn't reckoned with Harry's history with the media or with Molly Weasley's ability to mobilise her children to organise a large function through sheer number of wands and strength of pig-headed willpower. No, not one iota of information was leaked before the few approved wedding photos were printed on the front page of The Quibbler a few days later alongside a brief and dignified description by Luna. Kingsley had even filed the paperwork himself so that it wouldn't get out before the newlyweds had left for their honeymoon and were safely away from the media frenzy they knew the news would incite.

No, despite the public expectations of the event, the reality was that it was a small wedding in the church where Harry's parents had married, with the attendees consisting of only close family and friends. Dudley was one of Harry's groomsmen, as much a symbol of Harry's childhood and what they were working towards as anything else, and he even went so far as to bring his mother along with him. Petunia felt uncomfortable at the sheer number of magic users there but didn't want to miss the occasion, and even got teary-eyed at the sight of her nephew and son standing near the altar together along with three boys whose names she had quickly forgotten. As she watched the beaming redheaded bride walk down the aisle to meet the boy with wild black hair, she almost felt as if she were finally attending the wedding she'd long regretted missing, as if she were making it up to Lily even then.

She had appreciated the simplicity of it. The short blonde bridesmaid threatened to solely counteract the normalcy of the rest of the proceedings without even trying, but other than the rather eccentrically dressed girl, and the abundance of robes that she was decidedly ignoring, it all seemed rather dignified and quite tasteful.

-d-h-

The reception more than made up for the wedding's normalcy, in Dudley's opinion. The attendees had all Apparated, which was a horrid enough experience in itself, to a strange, haphazard house in the middle of a field that rather reminded him of that fairytale with the shoe-house and made him worry that Oompa Loompas or some other creatures were going to burst out of it at any moment. Tables of food were set up on the field, with a large three-sided large white tent, together with ornate flickering candles, providing a sense of intimacy and warmth. By the time Dudley arrived clinging onto Luna's arm, the area was abuzz with sounds and lights and chatter that seemed too great for the six members of the wedding party already present.

"It's lovely, isn't it?" Luna asked as she surveyed the area. "We should find our seats before the others arrive."

A pop signalled the arrival of his mother, who was clasping another redhead's arm – this was the one with the scar on his face, but Dudley had focused on learning the names of the groomsmen and so kept messing up the other three – and looking decidedly unwell. "It can take a while to get used to," he said. "You'll be right in a minute."

"That was horrible," Petunia said once she had gotten her bearings, transferring her grip to her son's arm so that the other man could make his way over to his siblings.

All of a sudden, a chorus of pops filled the air as the rest of the attendees arrived at the venue, and they made their way under the shade of the tent.

"Which sibling was that?" Dudley asked Luna; even if the knowledge was likely to act like water through open hands, he wanted to do his best to learn about Harry's in-laws. He still felt as if he were on the back foot, and as if every little morsel of demonstrated interest was invaluable.

"Bill. The oldest. He's married to Fleur – the woman over there with Cecily."

Dudley glanced over to where she indicated, not expecting to remember it but figuring that he might as well give his brain a chance at the information. He was met with the sight of the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen chatting away with Neville, the other groomsman, and one of the bridesmaids. Fleur, he repeated to himself as he looked around for Harry, and spotted him embracing his new wife. Bill's wife is Fleur. That was something he could remember.

A girl crossed through his line of sight, the flash of her orange dress drawing his eye. "Luna?" she asked as she approached them, gingerly adjusting a gardenia barrette where it secured her brown hair in its pile atop her head. "Mrs Weasley was wondering whether you'd like to escort Mrs Dursley to her seat and introduce her to her neighbours."

"Of course. Please come with me, Petunia."

Dudley watched as his mother was led away from him, her gait stiff as if she half-expected an attack. "I'm Dudley. Harry's cousin. Bride or groom?"

"I know – groomsman and all that. I'm Lisa Turpin. And both, I guess. I was in his year at school, but I'm here with Percy Weasley."

"That seems to be common. Being here for both, I mean; not dating Percy Weasley."

She laughed. "I'd hope not. We aren't officially exclusive yet, but it'd still be incredibly awkward."

"I bet it would be."

A shout rose out, cutting through the noise and securing all attention. "Please find your seats," the man who Dudley had been told was the Minister for Magic but whose name he had forgotten announced, "so that we can begin."

"I might catch up with you later," Lisa said, excusing herself and making her way through the crowd to her table. Calling out his assent, Dudley made his own way towards the table where the wedding party were starting to congeal.

-d-h-

The food was excellent, company loud, and speeches seeped with a sense of triumphant nostalgia that hit Dudley with a fresh wave of pride at his cousin's resilience and accomplishments. The final toast, given by Hermione, was concluded by a firework display that George had somehow instigated from his seat next to Dudley at the wedding party's table.

"Congratulations," Dudley told the newlyweds again, his voice cracking slightly with emotion. "I really am so happy for both of you."

"Thanks," Ginny said, smiling brilliantly, tears from the speeches causing her eyes to sparkle. "This is honestly the best day of my life."

Harry's hand moved to cover hers where it lay on the table, his newly placed gold ring subtly contrasting against his pale skin. "And mine."

She turned to face him, and they shared a soft smile.

This is love, Dudley thought, caught up in the optimistic joy of the wedding and the speeches. I want to have that with someone someday. Not what my parents have, where they are more focused on appearances than feelings; what Harry and Ginny have worked to create, where they can be open with one another and see each other as true partners in life.

-d-h-

It had been a surprise to find himself in regular correspondence with not only his cousin, but also his cousin-in-law and the girl in the orange dress. He wrote to Harry much more frequently than to either of the girls, naturally, but found himself increasingly interested in the brief but thorough comments from Ginny Potter and the rambling explanations of work and philosophy from Lisa Turpin. His mother was aware of all three correspondences and helped to downplay their significance to his father; she didn't exactly approve of his decision, but neither of them wanted Vernon Dursley to get involved in the matter.

The latest letter from Lisa concerned him. Percy Weasley had broken it off with her and, while she professed to fineness, it was evident that she was throwing herself into her work in an attempt to forget the sting of rejection. That in itself wasn't troubling, but, knowing that she already tended to focus on work over personal health, Dudley was worried that she wasn't looking after herself properly. It wasn't exactly his place to do anything about it – they hadn't seen each other much since the wedding, and surely her friends would act if they noticed anything distressing – but it didn't sit right with him, and he liked to see them as friends, even if it were in a primarily epistolary capacity. She'd certainly behaved as a friend to him, helping him understand more about Harry's world and introducing him to philosophy and other academic things in simple terms, and he liked to think he had reciprocated enough to be deemed one to her as well.

And that was that. He hurriedly wrote a reply and sent it back with Lisa's owl before grabbing a business textbook from his bedside table and his coat from the wardrobe, leaving the coat-hanger rattling around at the sudden force and loss of weight, and making his way downstairs. He passed his father with a simple, "I'm going out," and made his way over to the most remote corner of the nearest park, a leaf-strewn patch of grass hidden away from the park proper by a row of trees where he and Lisa had talked the last time they had met. To pass the time while waiting a reply, he starting studying for his upcoming university test, determined to receive a good score for it.

About half an hour later, he heard the tell-tale pop of Apparation and set his book aside on the grass beside him, watching the blades bend and fold under its unexpected weight. "Lisa?"

"Dudley, what's wrong? You sounded troubled. Is it your father's health again?" The young woman sat down on the other side of the book, seemingly mindlessly checking the title as she settled herself into place.

"No, he's fine. As fine as ever. It's you I was worried about." Looking at her now, he could see his fears were founded. Her skin was pastier than usual and her dull-looking eyes were underlined with grey stripes. That brown hair was as coiffured as ever, and her clothes looked neat and coordinated, but that did little to take away from the eerie zombie quality she had somehow assumed since he'd last seen her. What if she has become a zombie? Harry said werewolves exist; do they, too? Thoughts of potential escape plans flooded his brain like a tidal wave breaking against his skull, but he built the dam walls back up. There was no reason to think that she was one, except for symptoms that were easily explained away by his prior hypothesis, and if she were one he'd have no hope of getting away if she didn't want him to. "Your letters…"

"It's just a rough spot. I thought we were getting serious; he didn't want that; I need time to adjust. Just like to any other life change; I'll feel blindsided, then I'll adjust, then I'll see the benefits of the new system, then I'll move on."

"I know, but…" She looked as if nothing he could say would be able to move her to any perceptible degree. The only way to have a chance at something here was to give her more concrete evidence. "Lisa, you look awful."

Thankfully, that managed to startle a laugh out of her. "Well, yes, I daresay I do. I've been having some trouble sleeping. But, as I said, it's just a rough patch. I'll get through it, and then I'll start feeling better – and looking better, too, since you've oh-so-subtly pointed it out."

His brain was telling him to keep trying until he got through to her and convinced her he was right, but something in him – perhaps he'd inherited some of that gut instinct Harry apparently had in spades – held him back. Another thing he'd noticed in her letters was her persisting stubbornness; if he kept pushing, she'd step back and let him fall before flouncing away. If ignoring the issue and focusing on the light at the end of the tunnel was how she wanted to handle this, then that was up to her. If she changed her mind and wanted to talk, he would, but until that point it would just be an unwanted nuisance holding her somewhere she didn't want to be. "Alright," he said. "Just… If you change your mind and want to talk, I'm right here. And if you don't, I'm still right here. You know?"

"Yeah," the reply was quiet, but reassured, "I do. And that means a lot to me."

When she left two hours later, he promised himself he'd visit her more often. The wizarding world still overwhelmed him and it was often difficult to arrange getting there, but if he were present, he would at least be able to observe how she was doing firsthand and see whether or not there was any other way he could help her.

-d-h-

He shuffled awkwardly in place, wishing that the horde of attendees would fix their joint attention elsewhere. Oh, they chatted among themselves, sure, but their gazes kept flickering back to him. It was almost enough to make him hide; not from the day, not from its cacophony of good and bad promises, but from those who were there to share it with him.

"It'll be fine," Harry whispered from his spot to Dudley's left. "The lead up is a bit daunting, but the actual thing…"

Dudley nodded; Harry would know, and he did too, really. "I just hate the waiting. And the looks." He met the Turpins' gaze, and returned their proud smiles shakily.

"Don't think they'll be on you for much longer, to be honest."

And, sure enough, the first notes of the music drifted out across the church, silencing the whispers and sweeping all attention around and towards the back doors as Chelsea Turpin stepped through the doors, throwing flowers about like confetti.

Dudley's eyes didn't leave the door as the young women he'd come to know so well followed the little girl out, their faces beaming and hands steadier by far than his, or even as Harry whispered something that he couldn't quite make out. His gaze didn't shift until Lisa glided through the doors, her simple dress making her a picture of casual elegance, her white train brushing the ground behind her.

The attendees' attention was finally off him, but then he didn't think he would have noticed it anymore even if it wasn't.

His smile was strong this time as Lisa and her father exchanged a few words, she passed off her bouquet of flowering orange, and he let go of her arm so she could walk the last few steps alone.

A Muggle wedding with wizarding guests and feminist twists, they'd decided.

But, standing at the altar beside one another, neither of them cared about the pomp around them; as long as they were wed, they didn't care how it happened.

-d-h-

"I lived with my cousin from the age of one to the age of seventeen. We didn't get along. To be blunt, Dudley wasn't the most pleasant cousin when we were children. However, something changed; the war started seeping into my life outside of Hogwarts. We were attacked by Dementors in our hometown and almost died. He and his parents were identified as potential targets and were sent into hiding. Those things changed me, but they also changed him. After the war, I thought we'd be in some sort of halfway state where we tolerated one another and wished each other well but never sought one another out – that is, I thought that until he soughtme out. We started again. We got to know one another. We made it work. And he met Lisa Turpin at my wedding reception." Harry grinned out at the people sitting in their carefully arranged seats. The only Muggles Dudley and Lisa had invited were family members – he'd fallen out with his long term friends years ago and wasn't that concerned with inviting business associates, while most of her friends were from school – but they'd still had to carefully make sure neither family was near anyone who was likely to overwhelm them with information about the wizarding world. "I always feel strangely proud of that fact, as if I actually did something to cause it, even though I only knew her as my future brother-in-law's date. Anyway, I knew Dudley and Lisa had become friends, and how his way of thinking about and seeing things slowly started to change astounded me. We'd talked about serious things before, but… Let's be honest, Big D, neither of us are going to ever be philosophers. We both know that there are things out there that are too scary to think about, and that there are things out there that are too complicated to think about, and that we'd both be happier not overstretching ourselves. But you're just… you amaze me, sometimes, with what you say. In a good way. You're still the boy who wants to be a businessman and have a normal middle class life, but I don't think you want it because it's 'normal' anymore; I think you want it because you want it. And, Lisa, you're still the girl who wants out of the wizarding world without abandoning it, but I think you've started to run to something promising rather than fleeing from something haunting. You're both more open around one another, and, honestly, that's beautiful. Dudley, you never met Albus Dumbledore, but he was the wisest person I've ever met – and I'm sure Lisa could say the same. He always emphasised the importance and power of love. Dudley, Lisa, you've made love out of nothing. I can't wait to see what else you can do." The Boy Who Lived Twice raised his glass, and Dudley, a tear in his eye, raised his in return, as all around him a multitude of glasses were raised up into the air and glistened in the sunlight.

-d-h-

Dudley spun Lisa in a circle before pulling her close to him again. Over her shoulder, he caught sight of Harry and Ginny holding hands on the side of the dance floor. Blue eyes met vivid green ones and mouths pulled into smiles before he dropped his gaze back down to his wife. "I love you," he whispered.

"And I you."

Kissing in public had always felt strange to him. His parents didn't do it; his neighbours didn't do it; his childhood friends didn't do it, although not necessarily for want of wanting to. It just always seemed manufactured to him, as if he were too aware of the people around him and what they were thinking and whether they were behaving properly to be able to enjoy the moment. Lisa had said and shown that she felt similar, preferring not to display affection when others were around to observe and critique. Now, however, he ignored these facts, and he leant down to kiss the woman with whom he'd exchanged promises just hours prior.

-d-h-

Harry glared at the map as if chiding it for not giving out his target's secrets. He and Dean had been given their first real case as partners, and they were determined to get it right and prove themselves, Dean as capable and Harry as more than a one-target wonder. So, even though it was long past working hours, he had a map of the part of Wales where the man had spent most of his life and had recently been spotted spread out in front of him over his dining room table. The search routes for the next day had already been determined, but he couldn't silence the part of him that asserted that he'd find that game changing piece of information if only he looked hard enough. Not for the first time, he wished that he had Ron and Hermione working on this with him; Dean was great, but he wasn't them. However, Steele had decided to split up Harry and Ron under the belief that they would work better separate, and Hermione was working in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, although Harry rather suspected that she was beginning to get a little bored within its confines when there was still so much to do in so many other areas as well.

A sudden flash of red alighted in the corner of his gaze. Figuring that Ginny had finally returned from Quidditch practice, he shuffled his chair back from the table, casting a spell to tidy up his materials as he did so. His attention had been shot for a while, really, and it might do him well to have a break before returning to it with a refreshed mind. "Ginny, love, how was training?" he asked as he stood and turned to face her.

And was met with the sight of the embers and soot from the now-lit fireplace shifting until it formed the shape of Dudley's face. Harry wasn't sure whether it was the flickering or the strange texture, but there was a harried look on the other young man's face.

"What was that?" the face of fire asked.

"I, er, thought you were Ginny."

"I'm not sure I want to know what you said, then," Dudley said. "Harry, I can't stay here long – I need to get back to Lisa – but I – oh, shoot – Lisa's gone into labour early. We're at St Mungo's – she said she felt more comfortable here, but it's weird, and her parents are here too but they're as flummoxed as I am, and everybody seems to ignore us because we're Muggles. I swear they only let me borrow the fireplace because I said who I wanted to talk to. Sorry. Getting off track. Lisa's in labour, can you come?"

"Of course," Harry said, having already summoned a coat. "Er, Kreacher?" The house-elf popped into existence beside him. "I'm going to the hospital. Lisa's having the baby. When Ginny gets home, please let her know where I am and why."

"Certainly. Is that all?"

"Yes. Thanks, Kreacher. Dudley, I don't want to open up full traffic access by going through, so I'll meet you at the entrance in about a minute, alright?"

"I'll ask her parents to meet you there. I really need to get back to her."

"As long as there's someone who can get me to the room." Dudley's face disappeared from the fireplace, and the flames died down once more. Before another moment had passed, Harry visualised the entrance to the hospital, turned on the spot and felt the familiarly dreadful sensation of being sucked into a tube that was just that much too tight.

A few seconds later, he was pushing through the doors to the hospital, his eyes searching the crowd for the couple he'd met at Dudley's wedding. A ping signalled the arrival of the elevator, and a sudden surge of people with an assortment of maladies, magical and natural, bustled passed him on their way to it, all vying to get on it this trip.

Must be a bad day for injuries, Harry thought, spying a patch of clear space a little ahead of him and, identifying it as a good vantage point, darting his way through patients and visitors like a Seeker chasing the Snitch.

"Harry? Harry!" The lady's voice boomed out over the crowd, capturing his attention immediately and drawing him towards the vaguely familiar couple. Fortunately, those surrounding him were too occupied with their own reason for being there to concern themselves over what really was a rather common name, so his path was relatively unimpeded.

"Audrey, Jack, how are they? How are you holding up?"

"They're fine. Lisa said she wouldn't be able to take the potions they'd usually give for severe pain because of the baby, but whatever it is they gave her seemed to be working when we left," Jack said as the couple, now bracketing Harry like bookends, started along the path that Harry assumed was leading to the waiting room.

"It's tough being on this side of the door," Audrey admitted. "I don't have any siblings, so my only experience with giving birth was being right in the middle of it. Being trapped outside for hours is going to be excruciating."

"Lisa's safe. She has Dudley with her, and, while they may be snobby, the healers here seem more than capable."

"I'm going to track down some tea. Would either of you like something?"

"I would love some, dear."

"No thanks," Harry said. "I might get some later. Too much tea turns my stomach, and it sounds like we'll have plenty of time to fill. I'd better space it out."

Audrey surveyed the interlocking network of hallways and rooms like a ninja planning an attack, and then suddenly she was off, weaving her way through people and pieces of equipment alike. Watching her retreating form with an intensity that made Harry slightly uncomfortable, Jack said softly, "Audrey had a difficult time with all of the girls. We're both a little worried that Lisa will, too."

-d-h-

Harry slipped away when the screaming started, giving only a brief goodbye and instructions to ask the healer to send him a message if the baby was born before he returned before walking away with the tension of a racer doing anything not to start sprinting before the whistle went off. He knew it was inherently different and voluntary, but it was too similar to that night for him to be able to sit outside, separated from the screaming girl by what might as well be a prison door, without risking a panic attack. Instead, the wizard wove his way through the hallways until he found a quiet little nook a fair distance away from the maternity ward, and he curled up in an armchair, fighting the memory as it threatened to overwhelm him even then.

The dank, the shrieks, the utter helplessness, the knowledge of what would happen if they didn't do the impossible and break out, the mind-numbing terror…

Not now, he kept repeating in his head, waving the words around like a flame against darkness. Later if you must. But not now. Not right now. Don't succumb to it now. Think of something happy. Not now. Hermione's safe. Ron's safe. Voldemort's gone. Bellatrix is gone. Don't let the memories ruin today, not today.

His mantra circled through his head for hours, as he sat there, as he went to find refreshments or to relieve himself, as he wandered the halls aimlessly looking for something to do, for some little peculiarities to capture his attention and pass it between them like strangely helpful bullies until he was called back to the room.

He was staring at the emergency exit map, trying to memorise the little paths closest to him and closest to Dudley, when he heard the voice calling him. "Is it over?" he asked quickly, spinning around, expecting to find one of those little paper aeroplanes turned into a mouth. Instead, he was faced with his wife, still wearing sweat-streaked Quidditch robes and looking utterly beautiful as she unknowingly chased his ghosts away with her mere presence. "Ginny," he rasped out, bolting forward to pull her into a crushing hug.

"I haven't showered yet. I'm sweaty and disgusting," she protested half-heartedly, even as her arms wrapped around him. "Training ran late, so I only just got your message."

"I'm so glad to see you. I couldn't take it there – Lisa was screaming, and I couldn't get to her, and… I just couldn't stay there."

"I know."

"It's irrational, but…"

"Is it any more irrational that I can't look at a diary without freaking out?" Ginny smiled as she saw the tension leave his face. "Look, I really do need to get clean. Are there any loos nearby?"

"I think there's one down the hallway. I'll wait outside." Reluctantly, Harry pulled away and, slipping his hand around hers and clutching it like a lifeline, started off in the direction he'd indicated.

"I know hearing it said won't help much," Ginny murmured, "but the healers know what they're doing. There's always a risk, but it's nothing like what happened to Hermione."

"Yeah. Here we are." While Ginny went inside to clean herself and her clothes with the speed of a girl with six older siblings and a desire to be as quick as she could get outside to play with them, Harry idly cast light cleaning and drying charms on his coat to remove the light imprints of sweat that had transferred over to it. "Want to grab something to eat?" he asked as she emerged sweat-free less than three minutes later.

"I would," Ginny said, "but the aeroplane hovering behind you might have other ideas."

Harry turned around eagerly just as the aeroplane came to a stop and transfigured into a mouth. "Harry Potter, visitor for Lisa Dursley. This is the prescheduled notification to inform you that the baby has been born. The patient is now in Room 204b."

"Not much of a bedside manner, eh?" Ginny asked, nudging his shoulder playfully and grinning when she was rewarded with an amused snort.

"At least he's not working in paediatrics."

-d-h-

The sight that met them upon their return was physically almost the same as the one Harry had left hours previously; different area, same layout. Still, the mood was as starkly different as quills and cars. Jack and Audrey were still slumped in the waiting room chairs with nameless faces surrounding them and used, brown-stained plastic cups on the ground underneath them, but there was a sense of contentment about the room's occupants. The couple were huddled together over a piece of newspaper and appeared to be quietly discussing its contents.

He felt bad for interrupting what he was sure was newly found peace, but had to know. "Has he been out yet? What did he say? The message said the baby's been born, but it didn't give any details – "

Two heads simultaneously jerked up to face him, looking startled at the sudden address. Audrey, looking exhausted but relieved, was the first to recover. "Dudley said he wants to be the one to tell you. Go right in. They were having some family time when we left, but he'll want to see you. Just be quiet – Lisa needs the rest."

"Thanks," Harry said. "But they're both alright?"

"More than alright," Jack said, grinning. "They're both perfect."

Nodding in acknowledgement, Harry inched open the door Jack indicated, walking through the small entryway slowly and cautiously until it opened up into the room proper. Lisa lay sleeping in the bed in a cocoon of white, a chorus of soft chirps monitoring her health. An empty crib stood beside her bed, a pink blanket scrunched up in a heap within it. Finally, in an armchair angled away from him, he could see the back of Dudley's head as it angled downwards to face something – or someone – in his lap.

"Dudley?" Harry whispered, not wanting to disturb the sleeping form. Ginny's hand rested against his back as she craned her head around him to take in the scene herself.

His cousin turned and shot him a tired but very broad smile. "You don't have to whisper, Harry. The healers said they cast something so Li – my wife – won't be able to hear anything unless it's the baby, an emergency signal, or her name."

"Her parents said – " Ginny started, her voice noticeably louder than Harry's had been. "Harry, shuffle over. There we go – I can see now."

"They seemed to think it was better safe than sorry." As they'd spoken, he'd been adjusting the thing in his arms, and after his statement he half-stood and moved his chair around so that he was facing them when he plumped back down into it. Harry's eyes were immediately drawn to the pink bundle in Dudley's arms. "It's a girl," Dudley said unnecessarily but with no small amount of pride. One large hand gently pushed the top of the blanket away from where it had bunched up in front of her chin. The large, pink-faced baby had pudgy cheeks and a few tufts of pale hair atop her otherwise bare head.

"She's gorgeous," Harry said, although he wasn't referring to her specific face as much as he was her very existence and the scene in front of him as a whole.

"She is, isn't she? Her name's Hattie. Harriet, technically, but Hattie. Hattie Dursley. We're still trying to work out a middle name; we wanted to meet her first." Dudley lightly ran his index finger down her cheek. "We named her after you, Harry."

Ginny nudged Harry again. She was right, he thought. The namesakes have started. There had been some before, of course, but they had been people Harry hadn't known, and he had done his best to create a barrier of ignorance, not wanting further proof of how the rest of the wizarding world idolised him. Now, however, he couldn't avoid it. Yet, looking at his cousins fondly, he found that he felt no irritation over it. In other cases, it was another example of people who'd once deemed him mad now viewing him as someone worthy of emulation as they let themselves be pulled along by the tide of public opinion. Here, however, it was a symbol of their journey left by someone who really knew him and still thought that what he knew of him, the good and the bad, made him worthy of the honour. "Thank you," Harry managed to say. "I'm honoured."

"Harry, I'm a father."

"I know."

"I swore I was going to be better than mine. Stricter. But… it's hard, seeing her, you know? I want her to have everything."

"At the end of the day, love and happiness are everything," Ginny said softly.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Yeah. Harry, d'you want to hold her?"

"Sure." His cousin handed her over carefully; despite him having made the offer, Harry could see his reluctance to let her go. He didn't comment on it, though, merely keeping his arms steady as the weight was shifted into his arms. Pulling her closer to his body, he stared down at his goddaughter in amazement. He'd held Teddy plenty of times, but, while the boy was small for his age, he hadn't met him until he was a few months old. This little girl– his first cousin once removed, his step-niece in a way, his goddaughter – wasn't even an hour old. She might be having her first nap. Her first dream. "I love you, Hattie," he whispered to her. "You are going to be so loved." He leant down to kiss her forehead before offering her to Ginny, who gestured to the effect that she'd hold her later, and passing her back to Dudley. A flick of his wand conjured two more chairs, and he and Ginny settled into them to join Dudley in his vigil.