A/N: I claim no ownership of this story. It is important to note here that we are not supposed to know the name of this mysterious woman...for a reason. That is why I never refer to her by name. There is also a lot we still have to learn about this older, and wiser Dudley.

As the door swung open, he was taken aback by the size of the foyer. The ceiling was at least three stories above them, blue with moons and stars in unusual patterns. The staircase wound up before him and he realized that this wasn't her flat, she had the whole building. With a posh address like this, that meant she had some serious money.

The walls around the stairs were covered with unusual paintings, and Dudley was sure that the light was playing tricks on him when he imagined that an ancient portrait of a man in a scratched his nose. The stairs themselves were also a work of art. They were carved stone, the balusters designed to fit in a gothic cathedral. They were strange, out of place in a remodeled pre-war building in London. They ascended the stairs, and it deposited them into a beautiful room that Dudley surmised was designed for entertaining. It seemed to take up the whole floor as he scanned it for other signs of life, and found no one else around. There were several couches scattered throughout the space, all different shapes and sizes, but covered with the same emerald fabric. One wall was covered with an elaborate tapestry and a long, fully stocked bar covered another. The last wall that wasn't covered with floor-to-ceiling windows had even more of the same type of portraits that he noticed on the stairs. There were a few coffee tables, but no sign of a dining area or kitchen; and he thought that those must have been on a different floor.

"This is quite a palace you have here, your Ladyship," Dudley said as he followed her towards the bar.

She casually dropped her wrap on a black leather wingback chair as she walked behind the bar. "It sounds like you're teasing me, Big D," she said with a smile. "I like that. I was worried that you were going to be uptight."

"You know, you don't have to keep calling me Big D," Dudley said as he placed his hands on the bar, feeling the smooth surface. It seemed to be one solid slab of black marble. "You could call me Dudley, or..."

"Or Chief Inspector? Too stuffy, Big D. Would you like another scotch? I have a great bottle of Glensomething back here," she said, turning around and bending over to look in a cabinet.

Dudley took in the long legs that stretched from impossibly high stilettos to the hem of her very low-cut little black dress. He couldn't believe how well this night was going. "I guess I could have one more, but I've got my limit."

"Tomorrow is Saturday, surely you don't have a crime to investigate? Don't Chief Inspectors get a day off?" she questioned, turning around and showing him her dazzling smile again.

Dudley shook his head in answer to her question, but also in disbelief that a beautiful, rich woman would be coming on to him. "Actually, murder and mayhem are not so popular this week, so I do have the day off, but I don't want to get drunk on our first date."

"Mmm, first date, I like the sound of that," she said, walking around the bar and handing him a drink. "Sounds like there might be more to come," she finished, stroking his arm like she had been doing throughout the evening. "I say, Big D, that name certainly fits you. I have never met a man as big and muscular as you are. Did you lift weights your whole life?" she asked as she let her hands wander to his chest, feeling his pectorals and then sliding her fingertips lower down to feel his abs.

"Not my whole life," Dudley sputtered as her hand graced the top of his belt before pulling away. "I've always been big, but the Army forced me to turn it into muscle."

"You are a very impressive specimen, Big D," she teased, placing her empty glass on the bar. "Would you like a tour of the house?" she asked with a coy smile.

"Absolutely," Dudley answered as he drained his glass and put it on the bar. He turned to follow her and didn't notice the unusual sparkle of light as fine grains of residue in the bottom of the glass faded from existence as they made contact with the air.

"...and this is my boudoir," she said as she opened the door to the last room on the tour.

"Fantastic," Dudley responded, not being able to generate a coherent sentence to describe the majesty of the room. Green silk framed the ornate four-poster bed in the center of the room. The posts seemed to be carved into the shape of snakes. Something about this room seemed oddly familiar to him, like it was from a different time, or a different place. He started examining her personal items as she toured him around, and didn't notice anything stranger here than in the rest of the house. Fortunately, there were no more portraits. This seemed to be the only room without them. It was then that he noticed the coins in a dish on her dresser. They weren't Pound coins or Euros, they were irregular-shaped gold coins. Recognition swept over him as her lips pressed against his.

He forgot the question he was about to ask, and wrapped her small frame in his arms. The kiss became more passionate, and she directed him toward the bed as she caressed his chest, this time slipping her hands under his shirt to feel his skin.

"Whoa, this is all moving fast," Dudley said, trying to act cool, but now acutely aware of alarm bells going off inside his groggy skull. He had a sixth sense for knowing when something was going wrong, a sense that had saved his life in Iraq more times than he could count, and now it was telling him to get out of there. Quick.

"Oh relax, Big D," she laughed as she pushed him down onto the bed. "There, isn't that more comfortable?"

Dudley groggily looked up, expecting to see a mirror underneath the canopy, but instead he saw an unusual crest. It was a serpent on an emerald shield. "Slytherin," he whispered.

"Did you say something, hon?" she said, turning around to face him. She casually held a thin wooden stick in her right hand and looked at him with a questioning smile.

It all sunk in to Dudley in an instant, and his adrenaline went into full production. This woman was some kind of Slytherin witch from Hogwarts, and she had drugged him. He hadn't faced anyone with a wand in years, and he knew instinctively that he had to disarm her and get the hell out of there while he still could.

His size fourteen loafer shot out and broke several of her fingers as it knocked the wand from her grip. Her scream seemed very far away as he rose from the bed. He moved numbly to the door, picking up speed, as he heard her scream out again.

"Are you serious? You just broke my fucking hand, you giant Muggle!"

He half ran, half fell down the stairs, willing his legs to keep him moving as he went toward the main floor, and then down to the front door. Suddenly, the wall next to him erupted with an explosion that sent the occupants of the paintings running and screaming. He knew she was firing some sort of spell, and he ducked under the next landing as he moved as fast as he could to get out of her way.

"I was going to make it painless, but now I am really going to fuck you up!" she screamed in a shrill voice as she ran down the stairs, much faster than he, now that she had taken off her heels. "I think I'll let you watch yourself bleed to death slowly before I rip out your heart."

He was almost to the last step when he felt it; a pain like he had never felt before. It felt like every blood vessel in his body was about to burst at the same time and hot needles were being forced into every millimeter of skin. He collapsed on the floor in front of the door, unable to do anything other than hurt.

"The Cruciatus Curse is one of my favorites," she said with an evil smile as she held her wand at attention with her left hand. "No matter how big you are, it will still bring you down."

She then turned her attention to her broken right hand and focused her wand upon it as Dudley heard the bones snap back in place. The curse had been lifted from him as she repaired her hand, and he took the time to play dead and assess the situation. She had drugged him with something, so there was no way he could move fast enough to beat her next curse, so he had to catch her off guard. She might be some kind of evil, Muggle-hating witch, but she was no fighter. The first rule was never to underestimate your opponent, and she had already underestimated the amount of drug needed to knock him out, and she had no idea that he was lying on the floor fully conscious.

"You Muggle men are all the same," she started as she flexed her right hand. "You think that every woman is charmed by your stupidity and all we want from you is…"

She never finished her sentence. As she moved her wand from her left to her right hand, Dudley took advantage of her anti-Muggle diatribe and used a leg sweep to knock her off her feet. She hit her head on the marble floor, hard. She was stunned, and Dudley groped for the door handle and made it outside to the deserted street in front of Number Ten, Bloomsbury Square. The cool night air helped him shake off a little of the grogginess, and he noticed several twenty-somethings coming around the corner, much to his relief. He knew that there was no way that she would perform any magic in front of all these Muggles, and he was safe. He fumbled for his mobile, and then promptly fell face first to the ground in front of the group of young people. If any one of them had chanced to look in the window of Number Ten, they might have seen an attractive, although disheveled woman pointing a stick at the fallen stranger and mouthing the word, Obliviate.