Letters

Dudley sat at his desk, a stack of papers to grade sitting in front of him. Sometimes, even he couldn't believe he was a teacher. He even liked it. The two years before he had to go into hiding with his parents, he had really started to try in school. And now he taught maths. To eight-year old boys. His mother had been horrified, to say the least.

Dudley pulled the stack of papers toward him and started grading them. The light outside slowly faded to black. Dudley looked up and out the dark window at the snowy darkness. He shivered a bit in the chill.

He scribbled a correction on the last paper and set it in the stack and sat back. Dudley wondered, every so often, what happened to Harry. He hadn't seen, nor heard anything from him in years. Not since he'd left the house. In the months he and his family had been in hiding, Dudley badgered the wizards and witches who kept an eye on them to tell them everything they could about Harry. They did tell them Harry survived the war. When they were allowed to go back home, Dudley burst into the house, and ran up the stairs, thinking Harry might be lounging on the bed in the smallest bedroom. He opened the door, but the room was empty of everything that ever said Harry had lived there. The large trunk was gone, as was the stack of schoolbooks.

Harry was indeed gone.

His parents were pleased that Harry and his 'abnormality' were gone.

Dudley was not.

For six years, Dudley wondered where Harry was, if he was happy.

It would be Christmas soon. Did he have friends to celebrate with?

Dudley looked at the computer on his desk. Wondering why he hadn't done it before, he Googled 'Harry Potter'.

It came back with a London address.

Dudley grabbed a sticky note and scribbled the address down. Maybe it wouldn't be too late.

*****

About once a week, Harry checked his Muggle post for things like bills. His landlord might be a wizard, but he still had to pay for his electricity and water usage. There were a few envelopes in the box today. Most of it was of no importance. The brightly colored envelope almost went into the rubbish bin, too, until he checked the sender's address.

It was from Dudley.

Harry goggled at the envelope. He had barely spared a thought for his relative in years. He hadn't sent word that he had survived the war. He hadn't invited them to his wedding. Nothing. He preferred it that way.

Did he think that made him less than gracious? Absolutely. And he didn't care.

The five flights of stairs to his flat had never seemed so long before.

Harry opened the door to the flat and went inside. He laid the envelope on the kitchen table and began to rummage in the refrigerator for some leftover soup. He resolutely kept his gaze away from the table. He wanted to wait until Ginny came home to even consider opening the thing.

'Hey.' Ginny came through the door of the kitchen. Harry hadn't heard her come through the fireplace.

'Hi.' Harry hunched his shoulders. Ginny raised an eyebrow.

'So...? How was your day?' she asked nonchalantly.

'Fine.'

'Anything interesting at the joke shop?'

'Not really.'

'Wow. George and Ron are slipping. I'd have expected something for the holidays.' Ginny took off her coat, and hung it on the hook by the front door. When she came back into the kitchen, she saw the bright red envelope on the table. It wasn't smoking, so it wasn't a Howler. She picked it up, and examined it. It was something from the Muggle post. She turned it over and read the sender's address. 'Oh,' she breathed. 'Are you going to open it?'

Harry shrugged.

'Do you want me to open it?'

Again, he shrugged.

'Do you mind if I open it?'

A one-shouldered shrug.

Ginny carefully tore open the envelope and slid out a Christmas card. She opened the card, unsure of what to expect, give what she had heard about Dudley from Harry and her brothers.

Dear Harry,

I hope you don't mind I've sent you a card. I'm sure I'm one of the last people you want to hear from.

I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for the way I treated you. I know it doesn't make up for any of the things I did or said to you. I don't know what happened that summer in the alley, but it was terrible. It made me see what everyone else did. I didn't like what I saw. So I tried to change.

Anyway, I teach 8-year olds. Who would have thought that? But I like it.

Hope you have a good holiday.

Sincerely,

Dudley

Ginny closed the card and set it back on the table. 'You should read it.'

Harry's shoulders tensed as he ladled soup into two bowls and put them on the table. 'Eat your dinner. It'll get cold.' He picked up the card, and threw it on the counter, before slicing hunks of bread off a loaf. He nearly slammed the basket of bread on the table, before he sat down at his place.

'Harry.' Ginny's hand came to rest on his arm. 'I really think you need to read that card.'

Harry shoved his chair back from the table and stood up so quickly, the chair fell over. 'Why should I? Why should I bother reading something from someone who didn't give a damn about me for nearly sixteen years? Do you know what he did to me, Ginny? Do you?' Harry's hair was almost standing on end and his chest was heaving in an effort to contain the rage that exploded from somewhere so far deep down, he didn't realize it was still there. 'Do you know what his favorite hobby was when we were in primary school? It was terrorizing me. Him and his friends. He pushed me around, bullied me...' Harry stopped shouting to draw a deep shuddering breath. 'The summer after the Triwizard, he mocked me for having nightmares. Did he even bother to ask why? Nope. Just mocked me in front of his friends.'

Harry picked up his bowl of soup and threw it into the sink. The bowl shattered and vegetable soup flew everywhere. Cursing, Harry pulled out his wand and cleaned the soup from the wall behind the sink, and repaired the bowl. He replaced the wand in his back pocket, and turned to Ginny, who was still sitting at the table, her soup untouched. 'The last thing he ever said to me was, "I don't think you're a waste of space." A waste of space... Like I was nothing more than muck they needed to scrape off the bottoms of their shoes. They expected me to be bloody grateful for the old clothes, the scraps of food they allowed me, and for the first ten years I lived there, for the damn broom cupboard under the stairs where I slept!'

Harry restlessly paced the kitchen. 'Tell me, Ginny, tell me how in Merlin's name am I supposed to read a Christmas card from one of them?' Harry's voice cracked from the strain. 'Because I can't forgive them.' He muttered, 'Accio,' and his coat flew into his hands. 'I'll be back later,' he said, jabbing arms into the sleeves, and he walked out the door, slamming it closed.

Ginny stared at the door. She rose from her chair, and righted Harry's, pushing it back to the table. Ginny picked up the card from its place on the counter, and put it in the middle of the table, and then picked up her bowl and Vanished the soup. She wasn't hungry anymore. Ginny went to their bedroom, and crawled into bed, hugging a pillow to her chest.

*****

Harry sat in the dark coffee shop, an untouched cup of tea in front of him. He looked at his clasped hands. In the faint light, he could make out the scars on the back of his left hand. I must not tell lies. He grimaced at the scars, thinking he had lied to himself when he thought he was over the Dursleys. He wasn't.

Unconsciously, he started to twist the slim wedding band around his ring finger. It made him think of Ginny. She hadn't deserved being the focus of his rant. He wasn't angry with her, she just happened to be the closest target.

Harry stood up, tightened the scarf around his neck, and went into the night. He quietly opened the door of the flat, and hung his coat and scarf on the hook by the door. A dim light shone in the kitchen. He could see the bright red envelope on the table. If nothing else, he owed it to Ginny to at least read it. He could always chuck it in the bin. He trudged into the kitchen, and gingerly picked up the envelope, like it was a Howler, ready to explode at any second.

A few minutes later, he carefully put it back down. He knew he should send one to Dudley, but he couldn't do it. Not right now. Harry bent to untie the laces of his boots, and took them off. He picked them up and padded into the bedroom. Ginny was already in bed, asleep.

Harry crawled into the bed, fully dressed. He gently touched Ginny on the shoulder. 'Gin?' he said softly. She came awake all at once. Harry pulled her to him, sliding down so his head rested on her stomach. Ginny stroked his hair, lightly rubbing the back of his neck. 'I'm sorry,' he mumbled into her nightdress. 'I shouldn't have shouted at you.' He sighed and rubbed his face across the soft cotton fabric a few times. Harry looked up at Ginny. 'I read it,' he said simply.

*****

One year later...-

Harry looked at the Muggle photograph of James, Ginny and him that he had asked Hermione to take. He tucked it into a card, slipped the card into an envelope and sealed it.

He found Ginny in James' nursery, nursing him in the rocking chair. 'I'm just going to drop this off in the post,' he told her, holding up the envelope.

She looked up. 'Is that for...?'

'Yes.' Harry turned to leave, hesitated, and then turned back to Ginny. 'Thanks.'

Dudley,

I'm all right. I work for something that's like the police, but I guess my department's more like MI5.

I'm married. Her name is Ginny. Do you remember my friend Ron, from school? She's his younger sister. She's a reporter for our newspaper. I also have a son. His name is James, after my dad. He was born this past September.

It was nice to hear from you.

Harry