An Invitation for Tea ~ Chapter Two
Title: An Invitation for Tea
Author: goingbacktosquareone
Ship: Harry/Ginny
Rating: R
Warnings: Adult Situations, Explicit Language
A/N: If I had a witty summary for this story, I would give it to you. The most I can say is it's about healing, redemption and Dudley.
Author's Note:
Another quick note to extend my extreme gratitude to the people helping me make this story better: Kezzabear, Wolfie, Lonely Riddle, Melindaleo and my super!beta, snark-testing LadyChi. Each of you have made your mark on this story in one way or another. Thank you!
Happy reading,
Jen or goingbacktosquareone
Chapter Two
Old Ogden’s and Happy Wives
The treacle tart lasted through Wednesday, which was exactly how long Harry took to come to grips with the idea Dudley would eventually be sitting in his house and drinking his tea. By Thursday afternoon he was restless and sullen, moping gloomily and slapping paperwork about without consideration of its importance. He finally gave work up as a bad job and swished out of his office with little more than a cursory glance and a nod to those who remained. As he left he slammed the door behind him - giving little care to whether he’d raised eyebrows or caused whispers.
Harry lumbered down Diagon Alley with a nasty scowl on his face which easily warded off unwanted attention from passersby. Twirling his wand through his fingers, his eyes were narrowed and his shoulders squared for action: Harry looked ready for a fight. He pushed through the door of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, stalked to the back room and dropped himself, legs askew, into a chair beside an old desk laden haphazardly with open boxes of random inventory.
“Blimey, Harry!” exclaimed Ron, barging through the swinging doors to the storeroom. “You nearly cleared the entire store of customers! They were sure something was happening in the back - a hotshot Auror doesn’t just burst into a shop like that for no bloody reason!”
“Nice to see you too, mate,” snapped Harry, giving Ron a disparaging sneer. “I’m not here for moral support. I’ll just leave.”
Ron’s frustration quickly faded and he pulled up another empty chair, straddling it across from Harry. “Something must really be serious if you’ve come in here looking for advice from me,” snickered Ron. “Have you been to see Hermione yet?” When Harry shook his head and heaved a sigh, Ron’s jaw dropped and he let out a low whistle.
“Bloody hell, mate. If you’ve not talked to Hermione, this calls for reinforcement.” Ron opened the bottom drawer of the desk and pulled out a half-full bottle of Ogden’s, offering the whisky to Harry.
Harry grabbed the bottle by the neck and took a long pull before swallowing and coughing tears from his eyes. “Damn, the first shot is always the worst,” he choked as he offered the bottle back to Ron, who followed suit. “Ginny invited Dudley and his wife over for tea on Saturday. How old is that stuff, anyway?”
“She did what? Say again? I’m not sure I heard you correctly. The Firewhisky is affecting my eardrums.”
“I said Dudley and his wife are coming for tea on Saturday.”
“Has Ginny gone round the fucking bend?” exclaimed Ron, whose breathing quickened as the tips of his ears turned red. His expression then slowly widened into a loose grin as he wagged his finger at Harry and took another swig. “I get it. Good one, Harry. You’re having me on. That was brilliant, by the way. Very believable. Top marks for the show you put on coming in…brilliant.”
Harry jerked the bottle back and took another long pull. “I’m not having you on, you toe-rag. Ginny invited Dudley and his wife for bloody tea and I’m going to have to bloody sit through the whole bloody damn thing. This has got to be the bloody worst bleeding thing she has ever bloody asked me to do!” Groaning, Harry pressed on. “What was I supposed to say? ‘No dear, I don’t want that fat fuck and his horsey wife in my house?’”
“I think that about covers it, don’t you?” choked Ron, who appeared shocked by Harry’s use of language. “I’m now convinced. Pregnancy’s made Ginny certifiable. The hormones have driven her mad…barmy. I don’t care what Hermione wants. We’re never having kids if this is what it’s going to do to her. I don’t care what I said about wanting a bloody army of the buggers.”
“I thought she was doing fine until this came up,” stated Harry crossly.
“So I’m now guessing the little talk with Mum wasn’t about making sure Ginny doesn’t get worked up while covering Quidditch?”
“Worked up while covering Quidditch?” parroted Harry. “What the hell are you on about?” he asked in confusion.
“Well, we just figured Mum was telling you it wasn’t a good idea for Ginny to get so worked up at the Quidditch matches now that she’s further along - ”
“Ginny doesn’t get worked up, Ron,” interrupted Harry indignantly. “So she gets a little excited. Covering the matches is her job. What else is she supposed to do? Sit at home and take notes from the wireless?”
Ron blinked.
“Come on. You can’t be serious,” said Harry. “You try telling her she needs to calm down during Quidditch. You’re a fine one to talk. You try telling her not to go. She’s pregnant, not an invalid.”
“But what if she - ”
“What Ron? Goes into labor? We have a while for that - the Healers suspect about three or four months. She’s fine for now,” said Harry, rolling his eyes and throwing up his hands. “It’s a good thing I don’t worry about her. Since, y’know, she has all you to do it for me.”
“Jeez. You didn’t have to get so touchy about it,” chuckled Ron. “So I guess we were wrong. So what was Mum needling you about? It must’ve been a good one. You were gone awhile.”
“Oh, she was just telling me how incredible I am and how Dudley should lick my trainers when he comes.”
“Really, now. She said that, did she?”
“She did,” insisted Harry, with a wry grin. “She said blokes like me are one-in-a-million.”
“We’ve already established that, genius,” taunted Ron. “My kingdom for a nice, normal friend to sit beside me on the bloody train... No, I had to sit beside Harry Scar-head Potter.”
“Kiss my arse, Weasley.”
“You came here, remember? You’re the one drinking my booze, Potter. You’re the one who took up with my bloody sister,” chortled Ron, the Ogden’s loosening his tongue.
“You’re already bloody pissed,” laughed Harry. “What a lightweight! I’m going to have a talk with Hermione about this,” he said, taking another long drink from the bottle and then holding it up for inspection. “Damn, we’ve almost finished this, mate.”
“S’okay,” slurred Ron. “George has more in the office.”
“What time are you supposed to be home?” asked Harry, looking at his pocket watch.
“Six,” answered Ron.
“Good. That gives us two-and-a-half hours. Bottom’s up, Weasley.”
* * *
Friday night, Harry didn’t sleep well. As many times as he’d told himself he had nothing to worry about in regard to Dudley’s visit, he still couldn’t help feeling something was about to go terribly wrong. His first instinct was to protect Ginny from the nastiness of his past; she had no real idea what he’d been through with the Dursleys and he liked it that way. If she did, Dudley wouldn’t just be visiting his home for tea, he’d be leaving with a nose full of bat bogeys.
As Harry lay squinting at the ceiling of his bedroom Saturday morning, trying to distinguish between the fuzzy outline of the chandelier and the fuzzy outline of the crown molding, he reached over for his glasses and was startled when Ginny cleared her throat. Pulling his arm back to his side, he rolled toward her and propped his head on his hand, caressing her belly with the other.
“You slept like shite last night,” said Ginny matter-of-factly. “Because you slept like shite, I slept like shite. Because I slept poorly, baby slept poorly. Now your wee son has chosen to show me how hacked off he is by jabbing his foot into my lung. Because I have baby foot in my left lung, I can no longer breathe properly. I consider this situation entirely your fault,” she rambled, all while staring at the same ceiling Harry just analysed.
“Wee Potter has also made it abundantly clear: he won’t tolerate any more tossing or turning due to drunkenness; whether it’s self-induced, second-hand from inhaling your Firewhisky fumes or from touching you when you’re so soused it’s oozing from your bloody pores. For this my small son has braided my colon with my small intestine. This too, is absolutely, completely your fault. Any remaining symptoms I may have at this time tomorrow will be transferred immediately to you by way of a very brilliant spell. Then you, too, will also feel the joy of hatching a Potter with a superiority complex.”
Ginny turned her head from staring at the ceiling and looked him directly in the eyes. Harry was surprised to see she was serious. During her lecture he assumed she was taking the mickey from him for his behavior Thursday afternoon and his evening in the library the night before. This was no mickey. This was pregnant wife calling the shots. Harry swallowed uncomfortably.
“Er, I’m sorry?” apologised Harry meekly. “I was really awful on Thursday.”
Ginny huffed. “At least I didn’t have to Levitate you home. Poor Hermione. The two of you… What were you thinking?”
Harry rolled over onto his back and groaned, blowing his fringe up out of his face. “I can’t believe I’m letting this stupid tea affect me so badly,” he admitted finally.
Ginny softened and raised a hand to his cheek, turning his face back toward her. “Love, I asked you to trust me. Don’t you trust me?”
“Of course I do!”
“Then why are you so sullen and cross? Why have you spent the last two evenings pissed? Nothing is going to happen. If a situation arises and things become unpleasant, we’ll excuse ourselves and ask them to leave.”
“You make it sound so simple, Ginny.”
“It’s just tea, Harry.”
“I should be honest. I said this to Ron, I’ll say it to you, too: I’m just not sure I want that fat fuck and his horsey wife in my house,” said Harry with a grimace.
“Harry, language!” said Ginny, scowling at his choice of words. “Just who are you talking about? Are you referring to Dudley and Elizabeth or Vernon and Petunia? It sounds like you’re talking about your aunt and uncle more than your cousin.”
Harry’s mouth dropped open. “I suppose what I said does sound like I’m referring to Vernon and Petunia, doesn’t it?”
Ginny nodded with sad eyes. “Is that what this is about? The drinking? The tossing and turning? The mumbling in your sleep?”
“I’m mumbling in my sleep?” asked Harry, exasperated. When Ginny gave a faint nod, he rolled his eyes. “Bloody hell.”
“From what I understand, Dudley no longer has contact with his parents.”
“You’ve got to be joking,” said Harry, sitting up in bed and staring slack-jawed at Ginny in disbelief. “There’s no way.”
“I’m afraid so,” replied Ginny. “I’m pretty positive it’s one of the reasons Dudley and Elizabeth wanted to speak with us in person.”
“What does Dudley not speaking to his parents have to do with me?” asked Harry incredulously.
“Who knows?” answered Ginny. “Maybe he has some things he’d like to atone for, Harry. Perhaps he’s finally seeing his parents for who they really are.”
“Maybe. I’m still suspicious.”
Ginny laughed. “You’re an Auror. It’s your job to be suspicious.”
“You didn’t live with that lot for ten years and seven more summers,” said Harry flatly. “My parents are probably still rolling in their graves.”
“I like to think so,” said Ginny with a scant smile, “I like to think so.”
* * *
Later that afternoon, Harry stood in front of the mirror in his bathroom brushing his teeth the Muggle way. Scrubbing furiously, he attacked his gums and scoured his tongue with the toothbrush until the mirror startled him from his reverie.
“Easy now, lad. You’ll not have any teeth left if you keep at it much longer,” said the mirror.
“Well I can hardly have tea with Dudley reeking of halitosis, can I?” snapped Harry after he spit into the sink, his chin still dripping toothpaste. He bent and splashed water from the tap onto his face and swished his mouth, then stood back up and cheesed into the mirror. “Better?”
“Much,” replied the mirror. “Now if you’d just do something about that dreadful hair you’d be quite dashing. I bet those green eyes impress the ladies, don’t they?”
“How would I know?” asked Harry with a shrug. “I only care about one girl and you see her every day.” He wiped his hands on a towel, grabbed his wand and said the same parting words to the mirror he’d said every day he’d lived in the house. “I sincerely hope you’re done, because I am.”
He heard the mirror chuckle behind his back as he exited the room.
Harry changed his old t-shirt and jeans for his favourite long-sleeved shirt and freshly-ironed trousers. As he finished dressing he stood looking out the window of his room, still not quite believing what was about to happen. He took a deep breath to fortify himself and then joined Ginny downstairs in the kitchen.
“You look nice,” said Ginny from the counter, giving him a glorious smile reaching all the way to her eyes. She was setting out the tea things and dishing another treacle tart into bowls.
“Yeah,” grinned Harry, “and I did it all by myself.” He wrapped his arms around his wife from behind and nuzzled her neck. Using one hand to push the hair away from her shoulder, he began planting small, deliberate kisses along her collar bone. “You made me more treacle tart? You shouldn’t have.”
“Harry, you bad boy,” said Ginny with a groan. She stopped what she was doing and tilted her head to the side to allow her husband more room to administer his therapy. She reached her hands back and ran them along the outside of his hips, feeling for his bum.
“We could always pretend we weren’t home, keep the treacle to ourselves, y’know.”
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to, Potter,” teased Ginny, whose hands had found their target. Showing no mercy, she pressed her bum against his groin and wiggled a bit, making him growl. “The tart is for tea. You may have dessert later,” she said, turning her head and winking.
“That was sly…” whined Harry.
“Don’t you know it, buddy. So was sneaking up on me from behind and doing that thing you do with my neck. You’re a tease, Harry.”
“You’re impossible to resist, love,” said Harry with twinkling eyes and a waggling eyebrow. “We still have time to call this whole nonsense off and spend the afternoon shagging.”
“You’re incorrigible,” said Ginny with a laugh. “Get me the silver tray from beneath the sideboard in the dining room, please.” She returned her attention to the pudding.
Harry held up a hand in a cat-clawing gesture and growled, while winking and grinning. “You’re a minx,” he joked. “I’ll be back in a tic.” Harry entered the dining room and was about to pull the tray from storage in the sideboard when the sound he’d been dreading all week filled the house: the doorbell rang.
“Will you get the door, please?” called Ginny from the kitchen. “I’m just finishing up.”
He grabbed the tray and stood for a moment as the bell rang again.
“Harry? Are you going to get the door?”
Harry took a deep breath. Subconsciously brandishing the tray like a shield, he crossed though the dining room into the foyer, forcing the rising bile in his throat back down into his stomach. When he’d composed himself, he reached and opened the door.
Harry didn’t expect what happened next. A woman, about the same size and stature as Hermione with a head full of sandy-blonde ringlets, barreled into him. He nearly lost his breath with the force of her embrace.
“You must be Harry! I’m so pleased to finally meet you! I can’t believe it!” she exclaimed, clasping both hands to Harry’s cheeks and gazing at him with rapt excitement. “I have heard so, so much about you! So many wonderful, wonderful, wonderful things!”
“Uh…” stuttered Harry uncomfortably, taking a step back from the gesticulating woman.
“Elizabeth,” said Dudley quietly from the doorstep. “Why don’t you give him a moment before you pounce on him?”
“Oh my! I’m so sorry! How rude of me… I just lost my head!”
“Won’t you come in?” said Harry finally, gesturing into the foyer. For the first time, Harry made eye contact with his cousin Dudley. Ginny was right. This wasn’t the same person he left in Little Whinging. Dudley was older, obviously, since they were both nearly twenty-four. He had grown taller, broader - but not wider. Dudley was no longer overweight but muscular, someone Harry would be wary with in a fight. But most peculiarly, the biggest change was his smile. It showed in his eyes.
“Harry,” said Dudley, offering his hand.
He looked at his cousin’s outstretched hand and then back at his face in momentary confusion. Dudley was smiling and had obviously changed. But the past hadn’t. Harry felt as if he was at a crossroads: as if taking Dudley’s hand meant signing a treaty to erase the past. Unsure, he cleared his throat, but before he could move on, Ginny greeted the couple in the entry and saved him from the dilemma.
“This must be Dudley! And Elizabeth! Harry! Get the door, silly!” called Ginny, herding the guests into the sitting room.
Harry stood dumbfounded as Ginny disappeared around the corner with his childhood nemesis. He shut the door until he heard the latch catch and then walked in a daze into the sitting room, where he sat on the loveseat beside his wife, who was already pouring tea.
The women were chatting at a million words per minute. Harry didn’t bother to get a word in edgewise. He nodded appropriately and smiled on cue, noticing Dudley doing the same thing from across the room. After Ginny served the treacle tart, she offered a tour of the house to Elizabeth and Dudley. Dudley declined, claiming lethargy from Ginny’s fabulous dessert. When the ladies disappeared into the kitchen, Harry suggested moving to his office for some privacy.
After shutting his office door, Harry crossed the room and reached behind his desk, pulling out two glasses and a bottle of Ogden’s. Motioning for Dudley to sit on either the loveseat or in one of the wing chairs, he joined him with the drinks.
“Nice choice,” said Dudley, smiling. “I haven’t had this in awhile.” He promptly downed the finger of whisky.
“Well, then,” replied Harry, shocked, “to good choices.” He raised his glass and then drank, coughing as he swallowed.
The cousins laughed in unison. Looking up in mutual surprise, they caught each other’s eye and both immediately relaxed. Harry then poured two more drinks and spoke first.
“It’s been a long time.”
“It has,” agreed Dudley, who was analyzing Ginny’s poster over the fireplace. “She’s something else, Harry. I’d say you were lucky, but then I don’t suppose it would really come out sounding right. I think you’re both lucky to have each other. She’s great, I can tell already.”
Harry was shocked for the second time. “Uh, thanks Dudley.”
Dudley scrutinized Harry for a moment and then stood up, crossing to the mantle, where he turned and leaned against it. “If you’re wondering about Elizabeth, I don’t deserve her.”
“I - ” stammered Harry.
Dudley waved him off. “You were right not to shake my hand. I would’ve been shocked if you had, truthfully. You had no reason to. If I were you, I’d want to know why I was here.”
“That’s a good start,” offered Harry, motioning Dudley back to the sitting area. “I’ll admit. This isn’t my idea of a great afternoon. Somehow, though, my gut is telling me things are different. For now I’m going to listen to my instincts…so far they’ve never failed me.”
“You’re not kidding,” laughed Dudley, who noticed the question in Harry’s glance. “You forget. I spent almost ten months holed up with Hestia and Dedalus, not to mention a few hundred other wayward wizards and witches.”
Harry scrubbed the back of his neck with his right hand. “Y’know, sometimes I forget about all that.”
“S’okay, Harry,” chuckled Dudley, “because I never will.” Dudley reached back over to the coffee table and took his glass and drained it for the second time. “Firewhisky, Butterbeer, Exploding Snap, Wizard’s Chess, pictures that talk… all things I’ve come to appreciate.”
“All right, then,” said Harry uncomfortably. “So why are you here?”
“It’s Elizabeth,” answered Dudley resolutely. “I’m here because of Elizabeth.”
“She seems nice.”
“One of the best, probably cut from the same type of cloth as your own Ginny.”
“How’d you meet her?”
“Funny you should ask that…” replied Dudley. “It’s a very long story.”
“Maybe another day, then,” offered Harry. “Ginny says you’re not talking to your parents anymore?”
Dudley snorted. “No. Nope. Won’t be talking to the parents anymore. I suppose that’s a reason I’m here. It’s not the only reason, though,” he admitted.
“Why do I feel like we’re dancing around an elephant?” asked Harry, refilling Dudley’s glass.
“Because I’m trying to figure out how to say this,” said Dudley, tilting his head and looking Harry straight in the eye. “Potterwatch. I listened to Potterwatch. Every bleeding episode. Royal, Rapier, Romulus, River, the whole lot. Hestia - she told me everything. I suppose that was the beginning of the problem with my parents.”
Stunned, it was Harry’s turn to start pacing. “You listened to Potterwatch?” he said in disbelief. When Dudley nodded, Harry scrubbed the back of his neck again and shook his head. “This is unreal.”
Dudley stood up and crossed the room, taking Harry by the shoulder with both hands and looked him in the eyes earnestly. “Harry, have you ever felt like your entire life - I mean, have you ever felt like you just woke up one day and everything you’ve ever known was one big, fucking lie? Like everyone was having you on?”
“That’s a hell of a thing to say to me!” snapped Harry dubiously, turning his back on Dudley as he looked out the window into the garden.
“Shit, Harry. I’m sorry. Wasn’t thinking,” said Dudley, gnawing on his bottom lip. “That’s what it’s been like for me… going into hiding, learning the truth about all this, meeting Elizabeth, seeing my parents for who they are.”
“Yeah, your parents…they’re special people, all right,” spat Harry.
“Well, they’re not around anymore. And I don’t suppose they’re going to be from here on out.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“Elizabeth and I were having dinner a few weeks ago in a nice restaurant when the waiter brought round one of those posh dessert trays for a couple a few tables over. Elizabeth commented about how good the jellies looked,” explained Dudley.
“So?” Harry feigned disinterest.
“The next thing we knew, the entire tray was in her lap,” stated Dudley, “and two wizards appeared from something called an Obliviator Squad.”
“What? Obliviators came to the restaurant? I don’t get it.”
“Harry, the tray flew across the room. Elizabeth was thinking how nice it would be to have pudding and the next thing she knew, the jellies were in her lap.”
“Oh,” said Harry, scratching his head in confusion. “That could be a problem. She’s a witch? There aren’t many people who can do a Summoning Charm with wandless magic.”
“Elizabeth’s not a witch, Harry. Those wizards took us to this Ministry place where we sat forever until someone came and talked to us about some registry list. Elizabeth’s pregnant - with a magical baby.”
Author: goingbacktosquareone
Ship: Harry/Ginny
Rating: R
Warnings: Adult Situations, Explicit Language
A/N: If I had a witty summary for this story, I would give it to you. The most I can say is it's about healing, redemption and Dudley.
Author's Note:
Another quick note to extend my extreme gratitude to the people helping me make this story better: Kezzabear, Wolfie, Lonely Riddle, Melindaleo and my super!beta, snark-testing LadyChi. Each of you have made your mark on this story in one way or another. Thank you!
Happy reading,
Jen or goingbacktosquareone
Chapter Two
Old Ogden’s and Happy Wives
The treacle tart lasted through Wednesday, which was exactly how long Harry took to come to grips with the idea Dudley would eventually be sitting in his house and drinking his tea. By Thursday afternoon he was restless and sullen, moping gloomily and slapping paperwork about without consideration of its importance. He finally gave work up as a bad job and swished out of his office with little more than a cursory glance and a nod to those who remained. As he left he slammed the door behind him - giving little care to whether he’d raised eyebrows or caused whispers.
Harry lumbered down Diagon Alley with a nasty scowl on his face which easily warded off unwanted attention from passersby. Twirling his wand through his fingers, his eyes were narrowed and his shoulders squared for action: Harry looked ready for a fight. He pushed through the door of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, stalked to the back room and dropped himself, legs askew, into a chair beside an old desk laden haphazardly with open boxes of random inventory.
“Blimey, Harry!” exclaimed Ron, barging through the swinging doors to the storeroom. “You nearly cleared the entire store of customers! They were sure something was happening in the back - a hotshot Auror doesn’t just burst into a shop like that for no bloody reason!”
“Nice to see you too, mate,” snapped Harry, giving Ron a disparaging sneer. “I’m not here for moral support. I’ll just leave.”
Ron’s frustration quickly faded and he pulled up another empty chair, straddling it across from Harry. “Something must really be serious if you’ve come in here looking for advice from me,” snickered Ron. “Have you been to see Hermione yet?” When Harry shook his head and heaved a sigh, Ron’s jaw dropped and he let out a low whistle.
“Bloody hell, mate. If you’ve not talked to Hermione, this calls for reinforcement.” Ron opened the bottom drawer of the desk and pulled out a half-full bottle of Ogden’s, offering the whisky to Harry.
Harry grabbed the bottle by the neck and took a long pull before swallowing and coughing tears from his eyes. “Damn, the first shot is always the worst,” he choked as he offered the bottle back to Ron, who followed suit. “Ginny invited Dudley and his wife over for tea on Saturday. How old is that stuff, anyway?”
“She did what? Say again? I’m not sure I heard you correctly. The Firewhisky is affecting my eardrums.”
“I said Dudley and his wife are coming for tea on Saturday.”
“Has Ginny gone round the fucking bend?” exclaimed Ron, whose breathing quickened as the tips of his ears turned red. His expression then slowly widened into a loose grin as he wagged his finger at Harry and took another swig. “I get it. Good one, Harry. You’re having me on. That was brilliant, by the way. Very believable. Top marks for the show you put on coming in…brilliant.”
Harry jerked the bottle back and took another long pull. “I’m not having you on, you toe-rag. Ginny invited Dudley and his wife for bloody tea and I’m going to have to bloody sit through the whole bloody damn thing. This has got to be the bloody worst bleeding thing she has ever bloody asked me to do!” Groaning, Harry pressed on. “What was I supposed to say? ‘No dear, I don’t want that fat fuck and his horsey wife in my house?’”
“I think that about covers it, don’t you?” choked Ron, who appeared shocked by Harry’s use of language. “I’m now convinced. Pregnancy’s made Ginny certifiable. The hormones have driven her mad…barmy. I don’t care what Hermione wants. We’re never having kids if this is what it’s going to do to her. I don’t care what I said about wanting a bloody army of the buggers.”
“I thought she was doing fine until this came up,” stated Harry crossly.
“So I’m now guessing the little talk with Mum wasn’t about making sure Ginny doesn’t get worked up while covering Quidditch?”
“Worked up while covering Quidditch?” parroted Harry. “What the hell are you on about?” he asked in confusion.
“Well, we just figured Mum was telling you it wasn’t a good idea for Ginny to get so worked up at the Quidditch matches now that she’s further along - ”
“Ginny doesn’t get worked up, Ron,” interrupted Harry indignantly. “So she gets a little excited. Covering the matches is her job. What else is she supposed to do? Sit at home and take notes from the wireless?”
Ron blinked.
“Come on. You can’t be serious,” said Harry. “You try telling her she needs to calm down during Quidditch. You’re a fine one to talk. You try telling her not to go. She’s pregnant, not an invalid.”
“But what if she - ”
“What Ron? Goes into labor? We have a while for that - the Healers suspect about three or four months. She’s fine for now,” said Harry, rolling his eyes and throwing up his hands. “It’s a good thing I don’t worry about her. Since, y’know, she has all you to do it for me.”
“Jeez. You didn’t have to get so touchy about it,” chuckled Ron. “So I guess we were wrong. So what was Mum needling you about? It must’ve been a good one. You were gone awhile.”
“Oh, she was just telling me how incredible I am and how Dudley should lick my trainers when he comes.”
“Really, now. She said that, did she?”
“She did,” insisted Harry, with a wry grin. “She said blokes like me are one-in-a-million.”
“We’ve already established that, genius,” taunted Ron. “My kingdom for a nice, normal friend to sit beside me on the bloody train... No, I had to sit beside Harry Scar-head Potter.”
“Kiss my arse, Weasley.”
“You came here, remember? You’re the one drinking my booze, Potter. You’re the one who took up with my bloody sister,” chortled Ron, the Ogden’s loosening his tongue.
“You’re already bloody pissed,” laughed Harry. “What a lightweight! I’m going to have a talk with Hermione about this,” he said, taking another long drink from the bottle and then holding it up for inspection. “Damn, we’ve almost finished this, mate.”
“S’okay,” slurred Ron. “George has more in the office.”
“What time are you supposed to be home?” asked Harry, looking at his pocket watch.
“Six,” answered Ron.
“Good. That gives us two-and-a-half hours. Bottom’s up, Weasley.”
* * *
Friday night, Harry didn’t sleep well. As many times as he’d told himself he had nothing to worry about in regard to Dudley’s visit, he still couldn’t help feeling something was about to go terribly wrong. His first instinct was to protect Ginny from the nastiness of his past; she had no real idea what he’d been through with the Dursleys and he liked it that way. If she did, Dudley wouldn’t just be visiting his home for tea, he’d be leaving with a nose full of bat bogeys.
As Harry lay squinting at the ceiling of his bedroom Saturday morning, trying to distinguish between the fuzzy outline of the chandelier and the fuzzy outline of the crown molding, he reached over for his glasses and was startled when Ginny cleared her throat. Pulling his arm back to his side, he rolled toward her and propped his head on his hand, caressing her belly with the other.
“You slept like shite last night,” said Ginny matter-of-factly. “Because you slept like shite, I slept like shite. Because I slept poorly, baby slept poorly. Now your wee son has chosen to show me how hacked off he is by jabbing his foot into my lung. Because I have baby foot in my left lung, I can no longer breathe properly. I consider this situation entirely your fault,” she rambled, all while staring at the same ceiling Harry just analysed.
“Wee Potter has also made it abundantly clear: he won’t tolerate any more tossing or turning due to drunkenness; whether it’s self-induced, second-hand from inhaling your Firewhisky fumes or from touching you when you’re so soused it’s oozing from your bloody pores. For this my small son has braided my colon with my small intestine. This too, is absolutely, completely your fault. Any remaining symptoms I may have at this time tomorrow will be transferred immediately to you by way of a very brilliant spell. Then you, too, will also feel the joy of hatching a Potter with a superiority complex.”
Ginny turned her head from staring at the ceiling and looked him directly in the eyes. Harry was surprised to see she was serious. During her lecture he assumed she was taking the mickey from him for his behavior Thursday afternoon and his evening in the library the night before. This was no mickey. This was pregnant wife calling the shots. Harry swallowed uncomfortably.
“Er, I’m sorry?” apologised Harry meekly. “I was really awful on Thursday.”
Ginny huffed. “At least I didn’t have to Levitate you home. Poor Hermione. The two of you… What were you thinking?”
Harry rolled over onto his back and groaned, blowing his fringe up out of his face. “I can’t believe I’m letting this stupid tea affect me so badly,” he admitted finally.
Ginny softened and raised a hand to his cheek, turning his face back toward her. “Love, I asked you to trust me. Don’t you trust me?”
“Of course I do!”
“Then why are you so sullen and cross? Why have you spent the last two evenings pissed? Nothing is going to happen. If a situation arises and things become unpleasant, we’ll excuse ourselves and ask them to leave.”
“You make it sound so simple, Ginny.”
“It’s just tea, Harry.”
“I should be honest. I said this to Ron, I’ll say it to you, too: I’m just not sure I want that fat fuck and his horsey wife in my house,” said Harry with a grimace.
“Harry, language!” said Ginny, scowling at his choice of words. “Just who are you talking about? Are you referring to Dudley and Elizabeth or Vernon and Petunia? It sounds like you’re talking about your aunt and uncle more than your cousin.”
Harry’s mouth dropped open. “I suppose what I said does sound like I’m referring to Vernon and Petunia, doesn’t it?”
Ginny nodded with sad eyes. “Is that what this is about? The drinking? The tossing and turning? The mumbling in your sleep?”
“I’m mumbling in my sleep?” asked Harry, exasperated. When Ginny gave a faint nod, he rolled his eyes. “Bloody hell.”
“From what I understand, Dudley no longer has contact with his parents.”
“You’ve got to be joking,” said Harry, sitting up in bed and staring slack-jawed at Ginny in disbelief. “There’s no way.”
“I’m afraid so,” replied Ginny. “I’m pretty positive it’s one of the reasons Dudley and Elizabeth wanted to speak with us in person.”
“What does Dudley not speaking to his parents have to do with me?” asked Harry incredulously.
“Who knows?” answered Ginny. “Maybe he has some things he’d like to atone for, Harry. Perhaps he’s finally seeing his parents for who they really are.”
“Maybe. I’m still suspicious.”
Ginny laughed. “You’re an Auror. It’s your job to be suspicious.”
“You didn’t live with that lot for ten years and seven more summers,” said Harry flatly. “My parents are probably still rolling in their graves.”
“I like to think so,” said Ginny with a scant smile, “I like to think so.”
* * *
Later that afternoon, Harry stood in front of the mirror in his bathroom brushing his teeth the Muggle way. Scrubbing furiously, he attacked his gums and scoured his tongue with the toothbrush until the mirror startled him from his reverie.
“Easy now, lad. You’ll not have any teeth left if you keep at it much longer,” said the mirror.
“Well I can hardly have tea with Dudley reeking of halitosis, can I?” snapped Harry after he spit into the sink, his chin still dripping toothpaste. He bent and splashed water from the tap onto his face and swished his mouth, then stood back up and cheesed into the mirror. “Better?”
“Much,” replied the mirror. “Now if you’d just do something about that dreadful hair you’d be quite dashing. I bet those green eyes impress the ladies, don’t they?”
“How would I know?” asked Harry with a shrug. “I only care about one girl and you see her every day.” He wiped his hands on a towel, grabbed his wand and said the same parting words to the mirror he’d said every day he’d lived in the house. “I sincerely hope you’re done, because I am.”
He heard the mirror chuckle behind his back as he exited the room.
Harry changed his old t-shirt and jeans for his favourite long-sleeved shirt and freshly-ironed trousers. As he finished dressing he stood looking out the window of his room, still not quite believing what was about to happen. He took a deep breath to fortify himself and then joined Ginny downstairs in the kitchen.
“You look nice,” said Ginny from the counter, giving him a glorious smile reaching all the way to her eyes. She was setting out the tea things and dishing another treacle tart into bowls.
“Yeah,” grinned Harry, “and I did it all by myself.” He wrapped his arms around his wife from behind and nuzzled her neck. Using one hand to push the hair away from her shoulder, he began planting small, deliberate kisses along her collar bone. “You made me more treacle tart? You shouldn’t have.”
“Harry, you bad boy,” said Ginny with a groan. She stopped what she was doing and tilted her head to the side to allow her husband more room to administer his therapy. She reached her hands back and ran them along the outside of his hips, feeling for his bum.
“We could always pretend we weren’t home, keep the treacle to ourselves, y’know.”
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to, Potter,” teased Ginny, whose hands had found their target. Showing no mercy, she pressed her bum against his groin and wiggled a bit, making him growl. “The tart is for tea. You may have dessert later,” she said, turning her head and winking.
“That was sly…” whined Harry.
“Don’t you know it, buddy. So was sneaking up on me from behind and doing that thing you do with my neck. You’re a tease, Harry.”
“You’re impossible to resist, love,” said Harry with twinkling eyes and a waggling eyebrow. “We still have time to call this whole nonsense off and spend the afternoon shagging.”
“You’re incorrigible,” said Ginny with a laugh. “Get me the silver tray from beneath the sideboard in the dining room, please.” She returned her attention to the pudding.
Harry held up a hand in a cat-clawing gesture and growled, while winking and grinning. “You’re a minx,” he joked. “I’ll be back in a tic.” Harry entered the dining room and was about to pull the tray from storage in the sideboard when the sound he’d been dreading all week filled the house: the doorbell rang.
“Will you get the door, please?” called Ginny from the kitchen. “I’m just finishing up.”
He grabbed the tray and stood for a moment as the bell rang again.
“Harry? Are you going to get the door?”
Harry took a deep breath. Subconsciously brandishing the tray like a shield, he crossed though the dining room into the foyer, forcing the rising bile in his throat back down into his stomach. When he’d composed himself, he reached and opened the door.
Harry didn’t expect what happened next. A woman, about the same size and stature as Hermione with a head full of sandy-blonde ringlets, barreled into him. He nearly lost his breath with the force of her embrace.
“You must be Harry! I’m so pleased to finally meet you! I can’t believe it!” she exclaimed, clasping both hands to Harry’s cheeks and gazing at him with rapt excitement. “I have heard so, so much about you! So many wonderful, wonderful, wonderful things!”
“Uh…” stuttered Harry uncomfortably, taking a step back from the gesticulating woman.
“Elizabeth,” said Dudley quietly from the doorstep. “Why don’t you give him a moment before you pounce on him?”
“Oh my! I’m so sorry! How rude of me… I just lost my head!”
“Won’t you come in?” said Harry finally, gesturing into the foyer. For the first time, Harry made eye contact with his cousin Dudley. Ginny was right. This wasn’t the same person he left in Little Whinging. Dudley was older, obviously, since they were both nearly twenty-four. He had grown taller, broader - but not wider. Dudley was no longer overweight but muscular, someone Harry would be wary with in a fight. But most peculiarly, the biggest change was his smile. It showed in his eyes.
“Harry,” said Dudley, offering his hand.
He looked at his cousin’s outstretched hand and then back at his face in momentary confusion. Dudley was smiling and had obviously changed. But the past hadn’t. Harry felt as if he was at a crossroads: as if taking Dudley’s hand meant signing a treaty to erase the past. Unsure, he cleared his throat, but before he could move on, Ginny greeted the couple in the entry and saved him from the dilemma.
“This must be Dudley! And Elizabeth! Harry! Get the door, silly!” called Ginny, herding the guests into the sitting room.
Harry stood dumbfounded as Ginny disappeared around the corner with his childhood nemesis. He shut the door until he heard the latch catch and then walked in a daze into the sitting room, where he sat on the loveseat beside his wife, who was already pouring tea.
The women were chatting at a million words per minute. Harry didn’t bother to get a word in edgewise. He nodded appropriately and smiled on cue, noticing Dudley doing the same thing from across the room. After Ginny served the treacle tart, she offered a tour of the house to Elizabeth and Dudley. Dudley declined, claiming lethargy from Ginny’s fabulous dessert. When the ladies disappeared into the kitchen, Harry suggested moving to his office for some privacy.
After shutting his office door, Harry crossed the room and reached behind his desk, pulling out two glasses and a bottle of Ogden’s. Motioning for Dudley to sit on either the loveseat or in one of the wing chairs, he joined him with the drinks.
“Nice choice,” said Dudley, smiling. “I haven’t had this in awhile.” He promptly downed the finger of whisky.
“Well, then,” replied Harry, shocked, “to good choices.” He raised his glass and then drank, coughing as he swallowed.
The cousins laughed in unison. Looking up in mutual surprise, they caught each other’s eye and both immediately relaxed. Harry then poured two more drinks and spoke first.
“It’s been a long time.”
“It has,” agreed Dudley, who was analyzing Ginny’s poster over the fireplace. “She’s something else, Harry. I’d say you were lucky, but then I don’t suppose it would really come out sounding right. I think you’re both lucky to have each other. She’s great, I can tell already.”
Harry was shocked for the second time. “Uh, thanks Dudley.”
Dudley scrutinized Harry for a moment and then stood up, crossing to the mantle, where he turned and leaned against it. “If you’re wondering about Elizabeth, I don’t deserve her.”
“I - ” stammered Harry.
Dudley waved him off. “You were right not to shake my hand. I would’ve been shocked if you had, truthfully. You had no reason to. If I were you, I’d want to know why I was here.”
“That’s a good start,” offered Harry, motioning Dudley back to the sitting area. “I’ll admit. This isn’t my idea of a great afternoon. Somehow, though, my gut is telling me things are different. For now I’m going to listen to my instincts…so far they’ve never failed me.”
“You’re not kidding,” laughed Dudley, who noticed the question in Harry’s glance. “You forget. I spent almost ten months holed up with Hestia and Dedalus, not to mention a few hundred other wayward wizards and witches.”
Harry scrubbed the back of his neck with his right hand. “Y’know, sometimes I forget about all that.”
“S’okay, Harry,” chuckled Dudley, “because I never will.” Dudley reached back over to the coffee table and took his glass and drained it for the second time. “Firewhisky, Butterbeer, Exploding Snap, Wizard’s Chess, pictures that talk… all things I’ve come to appreciate.”
“All right, then,” said Harry uncomfortably. “So why are you here?”
“It’s Elizabeth,” answered Dudley resolutely. “I’m here because of Elizabeth.”
“She seems nice.”
“One of the best, probably cut from the same type of cloth as your own Ginny.”
“How’d you meet her?”
“Funny you should ask that…” replied Dudley. “It’s a very long story.”
“Maybe another day, then,” offered Harry. “Ginny says you’re not talking to your parents anymore?”
Dudley snorted. “No. Nope. Won’t be talking to the parents anymore. I suppose that’s a reason I’m here. It’s not the only reason, though,” he admitted.
“Why do I feel like we’re dancing around an elephant?” asked Harry, refilling Dudley’s glass.
“Because I’m trying to figure out how to say this,” said Dudley, tilting his head and looking Harry straight in the eye. “Potterwatch. I listened to Potterwatch. Every bleeding episode. Royal, Rapier, Romulus, River, the whole lot. Hestia - she told me everything. I suppose that was the beginning of the problem with my parents.”
Stunned, it was Harry’s turn to start pacing. “You listened to Potterwatch?” he said in disbelief. When Dudley nodded, Harry scrubbed the back of his neck again and shook his head. “This is unreal.”
Dudley stood up and crossed the room, taking Harry by the shoulder with both hands and looked him in the eyes earnestly. “Harry, have you ever felt like your entire life - I mean, have you ever felt like you just woke up one day and everything you’ve ever known was one big, fucking lie? Like everyone was having you on?”
“That’s a hell of a thing to say to me!” snapped Harry dubiously, turning his back on Dudley as he looked out the window into the garden.
“Shit, Harry. I’m sorry. Wasn’t thinking,” said Dudley, gnawing on his bottom lip. “That’s what it’s been like for me… going into hiding, learning the truth about all this, meeting Elizabeth, seeing my parents for who they are.”
“Yeah, your parents…they’re special people, all right,” spat Harry.
“Well, they’re not around anymore. And I don’t suppose they’re going to be from here on out.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“Elizabeth and I were having dinner a few weeks ago in a nice restaurant when the waiter brought round one of those posh dessert trays for a couple a few tables over. Elizabeth commented about how good the jellies looked,” explained Dudley.
“So?” Harry feigned disinterest.
“The next thing we knew, the entire tray was in her lap,” stated Dudley, “and two wizards appeared from something called an Obliviator Squad.”
“What? Obliviators came to the restaurant? I don’t get it.”
“Harry, the tray flew across the room. Elizabeth was thinking how nice it would be to have pudding and the next thing she knew, the jellies were in her lap.”
“Oh,” said Harry, scratching his head in confusion. “That could be a problem. She’s a witch? There aren’t many people who can do a Summoning Charm with wandless magic.”
“Elizabeth’s not a witch, Harry. Those wizards took us to this Ministry place where we sat forever until someone came and talked to us about some registry list. Elizabeth’s pregnant - with a magical baby.”