One Pressing Question

Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Their son Dudley, on the other hand, had recently spent a year away from school; away from the sycophants who followed him because they didn't want him to punch them; and away from his freaky cousin who had always been the polar opposite of normal, and therefore worthy of teasing, mockery, and beatings. The effect of this forced hermitage was quite a lot of self-reflection for the eighteen-year-old (as well as a fair bit of weight loss, as the frea--the wizards--who watched over the family bought the food and did not tend to linger near sweets or TV dinners), and on the day that Dedalus told him that they were safe and free to go back to number four, Privet Drive, Dudley found himself with only one pressing question, much to everyone's surprise.

"I want to see Harry. He's okay, isn't he?"

Dedalus froze, as not one of the Dursleys had so much as acknowledged that Harry had ever existed since they left the previous July. Never mind asked after his health or general state of being. Dudley stared at Dedalus, somewhat aware that his father's face was starting to turn purple and that his mother's lips were probably about to explode from her pressing them together so hard, but he refused to move until he got an answer.

"Harry is okay," Dedalus said, cautiously, as though waiting for the other shoe to drop. "I don't know what his plans are, but I'm sure he'll be quite busy for some time. Quite..." He hung his head. "We lost a lot of good people, and there's a lot to clean up."

Dudley shoved his hands into his pockets (something he had a far more difficult time doing a year ago). "All right then. But, if you see him, would you tell him to come by?"

Dedalus could only nod, but that seemed to satisfy Dudley, and he grabbed his suitcase and his mother's as well, and took them out to the car without another word.

* * *

The summer was more pleasant than it had been for years, with lots of blue-skied, cloudless days peppered with just enough evening rain showers to keep lawns green but ensure that neighborhood pick-up cricket matches were unaffected. Dudley's gang had moved on without him in the past year, and he found himself spending a lot of time sitting at the playground and staring to the horizon.

Vernon, on some level, was concerned for his son's change in demeanor since the previous summer, but as the boy wasn't doing anything that could be considered abnormal, he shrugged it off and figured that's what came from having nasty freaks hold you hostage for a year. Petunia simply followed her husband's lead, and spent her time catching up on the gossip from the street and tending to her garden (which was completely overgrown and filled with weeds).

The oppressive weather of August arrived (though, again less oppressive than they had become used to) with little fanfare, and Vernon began to talk about setting up an interview for Dudley at Grunnings. (Officially, Vernon had been on sabbatical from work, and was more than pleased to be able to return to his former directorial position and find that Ms Simmons, who had taken on his role temporarily, had left quite a mess to be repaired.) It was taken as a given, of course, that Dudley would follow his father into the business and become very successful doing important things with drills. Petunia talked of taking her Diddykins into London to buy some nice suits (which would look ever so handsome on him now that he was so fit), and Dudley would just nod and blandly say something about looking forward to making money of his own to supplement his weekly allowance. Vernon would chuckle and clap his son on the back, and then they'd have dessert.

The interview was scheduled for the first of September, and it was two days before that when Harry Potter finally showed up on Privet Drive.

He did not approach number four, choosing instead to stroll down the lane, soaking in the familiarity of the street he'd grown up hating. He headed down Wisteria Walk, cut through the alley to Magnolia Court, and made his way to the park. It was late morning, and mothers and their children were playing happily, not reacting to Harry's presence. The tall, messy-haired boy with the bad reputation had all but fallen off their radar, given how little he'd been seen in the last few years.

Harry took himself over to one of the quieter corners, sitting on one of the old wooden benches to wait. He took in the various carvings that decorated the bench, wondering if KS and SC were still 4ever, and where Evan D, who had been here, was now.

It didn't take very long, really, before Dudley arrived. Harry tried to hold in the surprise he felt when he saw that the nearly whale-sized boy who'd sometimes beefed up with Harry as the punching bag had reduced to a size that was almost normal. He was still large, his face was still a little pudgy and dopey, but for the first time Harry was forced to admit that Dudley was a young adult, and growing up.

Changes in body, however did not seem to easily translate into changes in attitude. Dudley sat on the bench as far as he could from his cousin, and did not acknowledge the leaner boy with words or eye contact. Harry was content, for a time, to let the silence ease the awkward reunion, but as the sun blazed on and mummies took their little ones home for lunch, Harry began to fidget, knowing he didn't have too much time to waste in Little Whinging before his mates would start to worry and come after him. Ron and Hermione knew where he was (they were not at all pleased with his plan to go alone, but Harry Potter was stubborn and felt he'd well-earned the right to go somewhere alone after the spectacular and glorious defeat of Voldemort), and he knew that they would leap to bad conclusions if he was gone for much longer. Harry sucked up his pride, and let himself be the first to speak.

"So. How have you been, Dud?"

Dudley jumped a little, surprised at Harry's voice (deeper and more confident than he'd remembered), and didn't have a witty comeback on the tip of his tongue. He chanced a glance to his right, and mumbled, "Been alright."

Well, at least they were talking now. Harry decided that small talk was not their forte. "You told Dedalus you wanted to see me?"

The older boy shrugged. "We didn't hear from you all year. I...s'worried."

"You didn't ever hear from me when I was away at school, and that never seemed to bother you."

"Not like I was pacing the house waiting for you to call or anything," he said with a slight snarl, a glimpse of the arrogant boy Harry'd always known. He was a bit relieved to see some things hadn't changed. "But...it was dangerous, what you were doing. That's what they said."

Harry nodded. "It was. But it's okay now. I'm still in one piece." He gave a soft chuckle. "Just one piece. Finally."

Dudley frowned, but didn't ask for details. One thing he'd long ago learned was to never ask his cousin for details. "What are you gonna do now?"

"Don't know," said Harry with a shrug. "I mean, I start school again in a couple days. A lot of us are doing our terms over. So I guess that will be nice to get back to."

"Barking, you are," Dudley said, shaking his head. "Why'd you want to go to school?"

"To...learn things?" Dudley didn't seem to grasp this as an important enough reason, so Harry changed the subject. "What about you? What are you doing now?"

The bigger boy straightened his back, an action of pride that looked odd on him. "Interview at Grunnings on the first. Dad says I need to start working now if I want to take over his position when he retires in a few years."

Somehow Harry wasn't surprised by this. "Well, if it's what you want," he said, waving his hand vaguely. As he did, he caught the time on his watch and swore quietly under his breath. "Look, was there anything else you wanted to...talk about? Not that I don't enjoy these stimulating conversations of ours, but if I'm here too much longer my friends may send out a search party, and they'll have...itchy trigger fingers."

Dudley squirmed for a moment, clearly fighting whatever it was he wanted to say against the 17-year instinct that told him to never be kind to his younger cousin; Harry suddenly saw a lot of his aunt in Dudley's face, and for a horrifying (but mercifully brief) moment, he felt the slightest bit homesick.

Somehow the instinct was defeated, and Dudley blurted out, "Look, you don't have to go away forever, alright?" He stopped suddenly, appearing surprised that he'd actually said the words. "I mean, I wouldn't mind if you called or wrote or...or stopped by. Just once in a while." His face scrunched up as he tried to find the right words. "You're a complete freak and probably mental and maybe even queer--" Harry snorted, but allowed his cousin to continue "--but you're...you're our freak."

Harry just stared at the boy--the young man--who had more than helped make his childhood a living hell. The boy he'd accidentally (but not regretfully) set a snake on when they were eleven. The boy who'd taunted him for his nightmares of an all too-real murder. The boy who just last year didn't want him to leave.

So he nodded, just once. "Okay, Dudley. I'll stay in touch."

Harry then rose from the bench and looked around the park. It was well into the lunch hour now, and they were the only people around. "I have to go now. Sounds like we'll both be busy for a while, but maybe I'll send you a Christmas card or something."

Dudley nodded and looked away, clearly embarrassed. "Whatever."

"Right." Harry sighed. "Take care, cousin."

He disappeared with a crack before Dudley could form a response, and the sudden sound caused him to jump. Dudley stared at the spot where Harry had last been, his stomach twisting as he fought back the repulsion of being so harshly reminded of the other boy's freakishness.

Or maybe that was just hunger. It was lunchtime, after all. And while Dudley might be more in the market for a simple sandwich rather than a four-course meal for lunch these days, he still enjoyed every morsel of the sandwich.

If Dudley Dursley knew how to whistle, he would have done it the whole way home.