Chapter Text
The countryside passess slowly, headlights barely breaking through the fog, their light reflecting eerily in the middle distance. This warren of back roads could almost be mistaken for a liminal space, in between worlds and out of time. The knowledge that they aren’t far from Stonehenge only amplifies the unearthliness surrounding them. The serviceable grey sedan rounds a bend in the dark, and a crisp voice announces, “You have arrived.”
Dudley Dursley looks down at the GPS coordinates on his dash. Apparently this is as far as his technology can take him. He slows the vehicle and looks around carefully. Just past the berm is a black obelisk carved with an ornate letter M at the base, and beside that, as he carefully studies the landscape, he identifies a dark twisting road. Dudley breathes a sigh of relief, slows down and turns onto the even narrower lane. And now he feels it. He has been told he would. He had been told the magic would be dampened, but couldn’t be removed, and he can’t imagine the sensation of foreboding that would course through him if this spell, or ward as it had been called, was at full strength. It is as if his hindbrain is screaming at him to turn around, run the other way, get away from this place. But he is prepared, and he pushes on. The sensation lessens as the scenery becomes, if possible, even more foreboding. Trees crowd overhead, spindly and dark, and then he is through the tunnel-like copse, and is able to sight a small flicker of light far off in the distance, past a wide expanse of rolling fields.
He lets out a laugh, his fight or flight reaction dissipating, and everyone in the car simultaneously lets out a deep breath. His fiancée, Claire, releases the iron grip she had on his knee and sends a small smile his way, and he knows that she too is free of the deep foreboding feeling that had struck each passenger mute. With the strange sensation gone, a different heavy ambience resumes in the vehicle as, just moments later, his father leans between the front seats and speaks with a huff, “Where are we Dudley? What is this out-country nonsense? What kind of person builds a house in the arse end of Wiltshire? Probably some classless new housing estate. I’ve never heard of any proper homes out here anyway.”
Dudley sighs and grits his teeth as his mother invariably follows, “Well Vernon, what else would you expect from any family that would have… him as a son-in-law.”
Claire shoots Dudley an apologetic look. He hasn’t been inclined to completely hold his tongue for the trip, but his responses have been moderated. No sense in getting both of his parents enraged, or it would make for an even longer night than it was shaping up to be already. He glances over his shoulder and almost laughs at the similar cross armed posture both of his parents hold, his mother still bird-thin and as straight backed as ever, his father slumped, his dress shirt pulling out of his trousers.
”Mom, Dad. You said you would be polite to Harry and his fiancée’s family. I’m expecting you to treat them like you treated Claire’s parents when you met them.”
”But Duds, dear, we knew that Claire’s family was a good sort. Who knows about these people? Not only are they his strange… kind, but I can’t imagine that he could have arranged a good match with a well-off girl like you did. The ungrateful boy didn’t even deign to contact us after all that nonsense with the…with our time away.” Petunia trails off as she glances at Claire, still unable to let on that anyone in their family is anything other than her narrow definition of normal.
Dudley breathes in slowly and parses out everything upsetting about that statement. Of course Harry was entirely in his right to avoid contact with Dudley’s horrid parents, and himself for that matter. And yes, Claire’s family is well off, and beyond kind, so of course, his parents had made fools of themselves meeting them. Claire comes from a family of professionals, firmly upper-middle class, and the Dursleys bent over backwards to impress them with an insincerity that had made Dudley’s toes curl. He doesn’t see much of his parents these days, purposefully, and it bristled more than it might have when he faced their behavior on the regular.
Unfortunately, his mother isn’t done, “And Claire is so accomplished. A doctor, as young as she is. And we know that you will go on to bigger things too, my love. Can’t let Claire be the breadwinner, now can we, sweet? What is Harry anyway? Some manner of security guard?”
Claire’s hand back on his knee is the only thing that allows Dudley to breathe and not engage. “Mum. I’m happy with my job, you know this. As for Harry, I’m not sure. We didn’t meet for very long, but he said he was in some type of law enforcement.”
And that is the truth, they hadn’t had an extended reunion, but it was long enough for Dudley to apologize to Harry for all of those years he had tormented his cousin, and let him know about what his mother has been hiding.
Claire, always game to support Dudley, puts on her most chipper demeanor. “Oh, I’m just so excited to meet Dudley’s cousin. He said that Harry is the same age as us, and they grew up together. I know they rowed, but honestly, I have some cousins who I didn’t get on with when I was younger, and now we are the best of friends. Why, I’m even inviting a few to be in the wedding party, you know Jamie, right Dudley? They are just the sweetest, and have been such a good support to me through my medical training, but they used to just pick on me something awful.”
Dudley wants to laugh this off in the way Claire intended, especially as he glances in the rear view and sees his mother pale, mind probably conjuring what a scandal it would be if Harry showed up at, let alone was in, their wedding, but he finds himself momentarily choked up. He needs his parents to talk to Harry before this whole mess can be sorted out, but he feels so guilty about bringing them back into Harry’s life because he knows the truth now and has for some time. Their childhood wasn’t just cousins fighting like Claire’s experience. He hadn’t realized until he was in college what it really was, the true name for his family’s behavior. It is something he tries to guard against every moment in his career as a teacher. It was abuse. Their behavior was abusive and terrible. Every wretched member of his family and every single person who looked the other way was complicit. He has vowed to himself to never miss the signs that Harry must have exhibited in school, the lack of confidence, the ill fitting clothes, the lack of family involvement or interest. And that is also why he is here today. To make something right. It is the least he can do. He has realized he would love to actually know his cousin. He doesn’t deserve it, but he wishes for it dearly.
His train of thought is abruptly pulled back as he rounds a bend, and is confronted with the sight before him - a palatial manor house sprawling across the landscape, wrought iron gates with the same M shaped insignia suddenly arising in front of them. He stops at the gates, looking for a button to announce his arrival, but instead, they part slowly for him, creaking in a way that seems purposely eerie.
As he drives forward, he sees grand landscaping, boxwoods forming a tidy path for their car, a massive fountain, shooting water ten meters in the air, warmly glowing gas lights lining the drive and tucked in and around the building. He sees a hint of movement alongside them, and identifies it as a white peacock, strutting hastily away from the slowly moving Peugeot. Claire lets out a low, slow whistle.
”What is this? A hotel? I hope that boy doesn’t expect us to pay for dinner at some hoity-toity restaurant.” His father spits out the words, an affliction that still seems to primarily happen when talking about Harry. Dudley risks a glance to see if his face is red, and isn’t surprised to see that same expression remembered from childhood. And where it used to make Dudley feel vindicated, special, and superior to his cousin, now it only serves to make him feel physically ill.
Dudley slows the car and they come to a stop. There isn’t any parking, just a round drive, so he drives slightly forward before slowing the car and coming to a stop.
Dudley remembers the conversation with Harry, that his fiancée’s family is well to do, but this is something else entirely. The scope of this residence is more like Balmoral than Claire’s family’s country home. What has he gotten himself into, he briefly wonders.
He lets out the breath he is again holding, and opens the door to get out of the car. As Claire opens her own door, he hears a disappointed huff from his mother at his apparent lack of chivalry, and shares a smile with Claire over the hood. “You can do this,” she mouths and he smiles as he opens the door behind him for his mother to exit.
The four of them make an unlikely group as they move towards the vast flagstone stairs leading to an expansive, black front door. Everyone is at least dressed up, Dudley broad and muscular, and still with the slight roundness that has stopped being a point of self consciousness as he has become his own person. He thinks he looks neat in a tweed jacket, jumper, and fitted slacks, the purposeful inverse of his father’s sloppy shirt, still slipping from his ill-fitting trousers. Claire is dressed in a svelte black sheath dress, simple and stunning, and his mother is channeling the height of mid-90’s housewife couture in a floral midi dress and sensible ivory shoes. He feels terribly out of place, but there is nothing to do but go forward. He squares his shoulders, and takes Claire’s hand as they approach the front door.
He doesn’t have time to knock, as he approaches the door swings open and warm and inviting light pours out into the dark night. He steps through, looking for whoever opened the door, but only hears a quick pop. His parents follow through the entrance, looking around, mouths agape. The foyer is massive, all grey stone, plush oriental rugs, and a massive flower arrangement perched on a marble table in the middle of the space that wouldn’t look out of place in the botanical gardens. His mother only has a moment to let out an affronted, “Well..” at the prospect of not being immediately greeted, when he hears quick, staccato steps approaching.
He feels his parents tense next to him. He still is a bit surprised that he managed to get them to come, especially as they had correctly assumed that Harry’s fiancée is like him, from that world of magic, wizards, and witches. Dudley actually thinks that the driving force for his parents acquiescing so quickly is his mother’s continued desire to show the superiority of her family. After so many years, and despite him calling them out each time, she still peppered many of their conversations with subtle digs at his cousin. Likely finding out they were both engaged at the same time was too much for her competitive spirit, her cruelty. But, they were here for a reason, and it was to get Harry something that he deserved, so Dudley would do his part. He only hoped that the bad behavior would be kept to a minimum.
This hope is quickly dashed as he hears a short derisive laugh from his mother as the footsteps come closer, and a figure steps out into the expansive space, quickly walking over to them with a beautiful smile on her features. The woman has pale skin and is wearing light blue robes, styled like a dress, fitted at the top and sweeping down to perfectly dust the floor, the fabric sparkling with an uncanny iridescence. She is tall and slender, her white blonde hair swept up into an elegant bun on the crown of her head. She is utterly beautiful, timeless, as though she could have stepped out from a painting at the museum. Her posture is perfect, and she moves with a poise that could only have come from being born into a family that could own a home such as this.
She stops in front of them and he pulls a polite smile up past his discomfort, and sees Claire’s eyes light up in utter delight.
The woman’s cultured voice echoes in the space. “I trust that you had a safe journey?” She nods at his parents, “Mr and Mrs. Dursley.” As she turns to Dudley, he suddenly realizes he does not want to hear his name as the formal Mr. Dursley, aligning himself with his parents. He nods his head and says, “I’m Dudley, Harry’s cousin, and this is my fiancée Dr. Claire Hewitt. Would you use our first names, please?”
The woman nods back to them warmly and echoes, “Dudley and Claire, then. I am Harry’s future mother in law, Narcissa Malfoy. I would be pleased if you would also use my first name. Welcome to our ancestral home, Malfoy Manor. Please, join me in the sitting room. Harry and my darling child are running a bit late, but I have drinks and some appetizers ready for us.”
His father huffs, as though Harry’s tardiness is the deepest affront.
Again Dudley wonders, how had he gotten himself into this?