Chapter Text
Dudley Dursley knew he wasn't a smart man. Not stupid-stupid — he could manage the occasional joke — but clever was never a word anyone used about him. He wasn't a handsome man, either, to be fair. His once-blond hair, which had earned him more than one angelic comparison, had turned into an unpleasant mix of hay and mediocrity. His blue eyes were never compared to Leonardo DiCaprio's. And he was tall. Very tall. That was his advantage almost everywhere, especially at concerts, where he was able to get a girl on his shoulders and hold her there for a long time. Nobody dared to call him a moron, afraid of challenging his gigantic posture.
Before her. This tiny, beautiful girl who pinched his back so hard he almost dropped his date and called him names for blocking half the crowd's view. Dudley Dursley wasn't a smart or handsome man, but he knew she was the one.
He married Darla one year after the infamous Oasis concert. His parents were delighted. Her parents were not around anymore.
Darla and Dudley weren't able to conceive a child for a few years. They tried. God be their witness, Dudley tried very hard. Then they visited doctors, after doctors, after doctors. So Dudley did the only thing he could have thought of: he wrote to his younger brother. Not that he ever called Harry his brother. He didn't actually call him a cousin either. He didn't call him anything at all, to be fair. Darla didn't even know about him before the man appeared at their house.
Dudley didn't think he would ever mention to his parents that Harry checked her health and sent them some potions. But as soon as Darla delivered a beautiful, healthy girl nine months later, he wrote Harry a letter and asked him to become the godfather. Everything was perfect.
Dudley also knew he wasn't a smart man because he should have known that everything couldn't just be perfect. Not in his family. At the age of six, his lovely Daisy woke up with pink hair. Darla spent all morning arguing with a shampoo hotline while Dudley couldn't stop looking at his little girl. He knew what that meant. He wasn't that stupid after all. When his wife stormed out of the apartment to the closest shop to buy a different shampoo, Dudley did something he'd learned from his parents. He bribed his own daughter, and she turned her hair blond.
At the age of seven, Daisy started shifting her eye colour. Eyes aren't hair, Dudley realised. He wouldn't be able to explain the changes to Darla like he did last year. So he called his mother to ask how her family had learned about Lily's magical gift. Petunia invited all three of them to their house. During dinner, she talked about her sister and mentioned that when she was a kid, Lily thought Petunia stole her doll, so she told her she cursed her. "Who would have thought she meant that three generations of my family will have this… condition", concluded Mrs Dursley and followed up, explaining to Darla the complicated family lore. That night, Darla asked Dudley if his mother had schizophrenia.
But the next morning came, and he no longer needed to find a way to convince his wife that his family was mentally stable but magical. His daughter ran into breakfast with a pig's tail and a snout, laughing that she was just like her daddy. The only problem he faced was that his Daisy said she didn't want to transform back. They decided to stay at his mum and dad's house until she fixed it.
After months of waiting, Daisy, who also turned her hair blue at this point, cried and confessed that she had no idea how to undo her piglet look. Dudley didn't hesitate this time. Ignoring his father's protests, he called Harry again.
Hermione kept walking through the bookshop, running her finger along the spines of the books, while her best friend followed her. She loved Harry, honestly, she did, but sometimes he came to her with a particular expression on his face — one that usually meant he needed her — and her whole world went flying off the rails.
Ron had broken up with her for that exact reason. He grew tired of waiting for the moment when he — and their family — would become a higher priority for her than Harry. Ginny followed his example just a few months later. None of that ruined Hermione's relationship with Harry. If anything, it only tied her friend even closer to her.
"Remind me again why you don't want to hand this over to the Ministry and take this burden off yourself?" Hermione interrupted his stream of words once again.
"Dudley and I have been working for several years on rewriting our relationship," Harry said. "And it's working, Hermione. And now I find out that my niece — my goddaughter — is a witch. Dudley will have to enter our world one way or another. I can't just push his request for help aside and still hope to remain in his world."
Harry sounded emotional. Hermione noticed that his hair was sticking up more than it usually did — a small sign that he was nervous.
"Why can't he come to you with his wife and daughter? Why do you have to go not just to them, but to his parents — the people who turned your life into Hell for years?" Hermione continued, watching Harry out of the corner of her eye.
Her friend blushed slightly. Interesting.
"You're not going to like my answer."
"Try me."
"I want to show them that I'm better than they are. That I've moved past the grievances of the past," Harry muttered, flushing even more. "You know. Like I'm a better person than them."
"You are a better person than they are," Hermione snorted. "And stop turning into a tomato. You're starting to look like our exes."
"Stop. I really do want to help him. Daisy is an adorable girl, and Darla has her charm, too."
Hermione glanced at him. He shrugged. They both remembered the story of how he had met Darla — the moment when she had asked whether he had ever considered seeing a shrink because his wife was a redhead like his mother. Her tone and expression had been so utterly free of malice that Harry retold the story to friends as a joke. Ron and Ginny didn't find it funny. Hermione had to leave the room to calm her laughter.
"But I can't do this alone. I don't know how to help her," Harry continued.
Hermione rolled her eyes at his pleading tone. She knew that her task now was not to meet his green eyes — then she would still have a chance to say no. Unfortunately, Harry knew that too.
"I'm so sorry Tonks can't be here to advise me. But apart from her, I don't know anyone else who has the same kind of magic," he added, with a level of tragedy Hermione found somewhat exaggerated.
"What about your other godson? Teddy is a Metamorphmagus too."
"Hermione, he's twelve. He said he's not going to reveal the family secrets of his awesomeness."
Hermione couldn't stop herself from smiling. The closer Teddy Lupin got to his teenage years, the more he reminded her of his mother rather than his father.
"So you decided I'm your only hope?"
"Yes," Harry answered simply and stopped. "And there's one more reason."
Hermione hummed for him to continue.
"When I get there, my aunt and uncle will start asking how I'm doing. When I'm going to have children. Whether I've decided to spare the world from my contagion. And one thing will lead to another, and they'll find out that my wife — who has the same hair colour as my dead mother — divorced me. And that I haven't even been on a date in years."
Hermione stopped but didn't turn around.
"I can't go there as a loner. But if I showed up with the smartest, the most beautiful woman in all of Britain — who also wouldn't feel insecure in the Muggle world…"
Hermione turned around sharply.
"You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?"
"My fiancée," Harry said and pulled out a ring with a foolish smile.
"Have you lost your mind?"
Harry was still smiling and lifted the hand with the ring a little closer to her. The ring was stunning. Delicate and just perfect.
"Family heirloom," he said proudly, as if reading her thoughts.
"You're giving me a Potter family ring, so I'll pretend to be your fiancée for your messed-up family?" Hermione couldn't take her eyes off it. Her hand seemed to reach for the ring on its own. Harry noticed the gesture and caught her hand, slipping the ring onto her finger in one swift motion. It sat there as if it had always belonged there.
"Hermione, please. I can't do this alone. You're the only one I can ask." He stepped closer. Their eyes were level now. His kind green eyes. Hermione couldn't stop herself from smiling — just like she never could when faced with his kind green eyes.
With her other hand, she pulled a book off the shelf and handed it to Harry. He looked down at the cover, surprised.
"You're paying. This is the best guide to Metamorphmagi in England. I hope it helps."
Neither of them heard the camera.