Chapter Text
Dudley wakes slowly.
He opens his eyes slowly, feeling his body gently return to his control as the fog of sleep disappears from his mind. It takes his eyes a moment to focus- he has never been a morning person- and he realizes he is staring at something strange.
Blue. He thinks, rubbing his left hand on one of his eyes, still somewhat asleep , "Do I have a blue ceiling?"
A few seconds pass when Dudley suddenly realizes it’s not the ceiling he’s staring at. But a pair of eyes. He squints at them, confused, trying to remember if his wife, kids, or baby cousin ever had that shade of eclectic blue when it hits him like a bolt of electricity.
Jerking away from the eyes, Dudley flings himself into his pillows with a swear. His mind is violently awake now. It allows him to notice that the pair of electric blue eyes belong on the small face of Theodore Nott, who is leaning in awful close to his like a cat waiting to pounce.
He has no facial expression, and the way he is not blinking is mildly unsettling. He’s lying on top of Dudley, hands tucked in what looks like a plank position on the time traveler’s chest. Dudley’s right arm is around the small of his back, likely from where he had been holding him when the boy had finally cried himself to sleep the night before.
Dudley has always comforted his children by throwing an arm around them, hugging them like a teddy bear, and grounding them with his warm presence. He carried this habit on to comfort Harry, and now it seems he accidentally continued it with Nott.
His stare is a void of unwavering curiosity, so intense in its weight that Dudley is half-wondering if the boy is planning on taking his soul to the the underworld.
Dudley laughs nervously, wondering what the hell the kid was doing. Had he been watching him sleep? Is that expected behavior for Wizard children? To be creepy?
“Good morning, Nott. You’re up early.” He tries to say casually but mentally cringes at the blatant unnerve pitch to his voice.
Nott blinked slowly as if he was only moving his eyelids because someone was watching him, and he needed to pretend to be human. A shiver of unease goes down Dudley’s spine. He’s about to try to distance them when the boy speaks.
“You’re real,” he says in the softest voice he has ever heard a child speak. It reminds him of the first time his daughter saw the grand lighting of an biggest Christmas tree in England. So in awe that she feared talking too loud would have ruined the magic. “I thought it was a dream, but you’re real. You’re touching me, and you're not scared.”
Oh.
A tidal wave of yesterday's memories roars back, and Dudley is ashamed of himself. He acts like he just woke up in a horror movie because a child is studying him, while said child, who has likely never been properly hugged, is in wonder over someone wanting to be close to him.
Get it together, Dursley. He thinks, observing Nott who raises a hand, making sure to be slow enough that his movement is evident in case the other pulls away. He traces his face as if he can’t believe Dudley is flesh and bone. This kid needs you to be a pillar for him, and by the grace of every god, you will be.
“Yeah, kid.” He responds, smiling at the awe that bleeds into Nott’s expression. “I’m real, and I meant what I said. You did nothing wrong. I’m happy you're here.”
“ Oh,” The word comes out watery as Nott slowly lowers his head to Dudley’s chest, trying to hide. Dudley reaches up to pet his hair like he would when Daisy had a nightmare and came running to their bed. He ignores the wetness gathering on his borrowed shirt.
“There. There. Let it out, " he whispers, holding the child closer. “I’m here, and I won’t ever leave you.”
The boy laughs wetly. “You can’t promise that.”
“Sure I can because I just did. Deal with it.”
Another laugh that seems more of a breath of relief is dragged from the boy’s lips. He lingers on Dudley for a moment before slowly raising his head. Hope shines in his eyes, even if his bottom lip is caught in his teeth. “Do you know what happens to people who stand around me for too long? They lose their magic.”
“So?”
“ So !? Do you even know what that means?”
“Look, kid, I may not look it, but I’ve been around long enough to tell you that I can survive just fine without magic.” He says, ensuring that some steel has entered his voice. He wants the child to know how serious he is about this. “I have lived my entire life without magic and can do it again.”
Nott’s face crumbles into astonishment. “What?”
“I’m a muggle-born.” He smiles. “Magic wasn’t even real to me until I was eleven. I could care less if it’s gone. Honestly, I prefer it.”
“But you’re Harry Potter’s cousin!”
“And?”
“Won’t he be mad that I caused you to lose your magic?”
“Harry rejected his Hogwarts acceptance letter. Trust me when I say he can care less, too. Honestly, as long as he can still draw and go to the Pit fights-”
“The Pit fights, as in the goblin Pit Fights ?!” Nott’s eyes light up. “There were some records of their battles in my family library. I have always wanted to see one, but wizards are usually not allowed to attend. Potter has been to a Pit Fight!?”
Dudley grins. “Yeah, he had a personal invitation from the prince of the Gringotts himself.”
“Wow,” Nott breathes, little face alight in wonder. “It must be so cool.”
“I think so. I have never been to one, but I bet you can ask him about it.” Dudley makes a show of looking about, trying to spot something that will tell him the time. To his surprise, a familiar alarm clock pops out of thin air, landing with a clack on the nearby bedstand.
His jaw drops as he watches what he thinks is Harry’s clock tick away. If he turns that cheap battery-operated thing around and sees a dragon painted on the back of it, then there can be no question about it.
That said, how did Harry’s clock show up here?
It shows that it’s still pretty early, an hour before breakfast. He bites back a hiss of disappointment. Now that he wasn’t preparing breakfast, he figured he would be allowed more time to sleep in.
“I don’t suppose we can sleep in a little longer?” Dudley mutters, eyes already dropping. Nott considers his question before shrugging.
“We could, but I wanted to get food as soon as it was served. There are fewer people that way, and I don’t want….they get scared when I’m around.” The boy responded less enthusiastically than before.
“Tough.” Dudley dismisses, letting his head slide to the side and come rest on the pillow more comfortably.“If I have to put up with talking portraits and ghosts, they can handle a normal boy eating breakfast.”
“You’re scared of portraits?” Nott says incredulously.
“Where I’m from, portraits don’t talk or react to their surroundings. That’s unnatural,” Dudley replies, half defensive and half firm. Nott shifts uncomfortably before the boy rolls off of him, and he’s forced to open his eyes.
Regrettably, it doesn’t look like he’ll be able to convince the child to get one more hour of sleep. Young children had no idea how precious a chance like this is. Once he hit his mid-twenties, Nott would pray for days when he could drop off and nap.
“It’s unnatural for me and my people for portraits to stay still.” He mutters, looking away from Dudley. The tone in which he says that makes Dudley wince. It reminded him of an awful like Harry whenever his little cousin was confronted with someone wielding casual racism.
Harry never said it, but in the context, the underlining of My culture is not wrong; it’s just different, and you don’t bother to learn the beautiful ways it is.
It’s not like it happens often, but Harry is darker than the Dursleys, which singles him out in the crowd. People were also oddly comfortable just saying things they didn’t think would be hurtful or didn’t care that it was to his baby cousin.
It pissed him off.
He always jumped in whenever strangers overstepped in situations like those, but it left a nasty taste in his mouth—similar to how Dudley was feeling now.
“Shit, I didn’t mean to, but I disrespected your culture, didn’t I? I’m sorry, that was rude of me.” He says, sitting up. The blond boy looks at him over his shoulder in surprise before he raises his shoulder up and down.
He turns from Dudley again. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Yes, it is.” Dudley insists, “It’s a huge deal because I implied something was fundamentally wrong with a part of your culture and hurt you. That’s not okay. I’m sorry, I truly am. I’ll work on it.”
Nott hugs himself with a weak chuckle. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Say things that make me feel better?”
Mystified Dudley shrugs. “I have a fat mouth. Might as well be useful for something.”
The comment was meant to lighten the mood, and it does, for it forces a chuckle out of the child. The only problem is that the chuckle sounds hollow and tired. He’s at a loss for words on how to make it better.
He watches as Nott carefully walks through the big fancy room to a wall where a large painting of two people, a man and a woman, is displayed. The man has milk chocolate brown hair and a mustache but is dressed as though he is from the Victorian age. At the same time, the woman has long sunshine hair and a pretty lavender-colored gown of similar style.
She’s also incredibly gorgeous. The man is no slouch himself, but she looks far past his. No wonder a painter had to capture her beauty.
They are beaming at the bundle of joy tucked into the curve of the woman’s arm. The man is leaning down, holding out a finger for the tiny hand to curl around it. Although their faces are turned away from the painter, it is obvious to anyone looking at it that they love the babe with their whole hearts.
It steals his breath away. Dudley wouldn’t have been surprised to find this piece of art in the Louvre, given how well done it was. It looked like the little family could have moved at any moment, given how alive the painter managed to get them between the strokes of his paintbrush.
Nott places a hand on the painting, tilting his head back to stare at them. Dudley can’t see his face, but now that he stands near them, it is obvious who the subjects should be. His awe of the painting turns to unease rapidly.
“They used to move and speak once,” Nott says after a moment. “They may have even been able to react to the world outside of their frame, but I was too little to remember. For a while, all the portrait would do was loop the last painting session. The Father would walk into the frame while the mother sang to the babbling baby. He asked them how his two favorite people were. She kiss him, then they would both coo at the baby. The Father would hold out a finger, and a tiny hand would reach out and grab it. He always said the same thing: “Quite a grip you have. You’re going to be one hell of a dueler, aren't you.” She would scoff and turn her nose up. “ My boy is going to be a spell researcher!” . The Father would laugh, then lead down like he shared some big secret “We both know you’d rather be on the field than behind a desk.” She would smack his arm with a laugh like bells, and together, they would say, “Whatever you choose, Theodore, we’ll love you anyway.” Then the loop would start again.”
Dudley remained silent, unsure of what he could or should say. Nott continued as if he were speaking to himself rather than the boy behind him.
“One day, the magic stopped. They got frozen in the last scene right before they said, “ We’ll love you anyway.” I spent too many hours watching them because I liked the sound of their voices too much.”
Well fuck.
Dudley blinks tears out of his eyes, sucking a breath through his teeth to keep himself from bawling.
“I know it’s unnatural to you, but to us, it’s a way to prevent them from dying completely. The moment someone is forgotten is the moment they are truly dead.” Nott finishes turning around to smile emptily at the muggle-born. “I’ve forgotten the sound of their voices.”
“Shit, kid.” Dudley curses, fanning his eyes and mentally wailing at himself to not let the build-up tears fall. “That’s the saddest thing I ever fucking heard.”
Nott looks taken aback by his language, and, yeah, didn’t he say something about bad words only yesterday? It was followed by something about not having someone to be any kind of influence on him.
He will have to pay a little more attention to his foul mouth. He was already getting too comfortable speaking like that with Harry. He didn’t want to corrupt the children around him; he sometimes forgot that he wasn’t a mid-thirty-year-old man but a literal child.
“It’s not so bad. You learn to live with it,” Nott says after a long silence.
“It still sucks,” He sighs, rubbing at his face. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“If everyone is so against you, why would you come here and not the muggle world?”
Nott’s eyes go wide. “The muggle world? I can’t go there! At least people here know that being around me will kill them. Besides, I have to go to Hogwarts. I can’t break another Magical Contract.”
Dudley’s eyes widen. “What do you mean another contract?”
Nott reaches up and rubs his hair between his fingers. It’s not in the way someone shy would do. The motion nearly tears out some strands, and he has to hold back from telling the boy to let go. He remembers once that his father-in-law struggled with a client, a teenager who would rip her hair out as a coping mechanism.
Telling her to stop would only upset and worsen the situation. His father-in-law hadn’t given away any information that could have identified her, but Dudley remembered the dinner as the first night Josh had taken his first few steps.
It was engraved in his mind because while the adults chatted, Daisy and her brother ate their food in the playpen by the table.
Tiffany asked what would work to get the kid to stop, and Mr. Tate sighed. “The first thing you need is to find the trigger. What situation, phrase, or memory cause them to start ripping out pieces of their hair? Once you find the trigger, you must do Habit reversal training.”
“What’s that, Sir?” Dudley had asked while refilling Tiffany’s glass before she could ask. She sent him an adoring smile, and he noticed Mrs. Tate had done the same.
“It’s when you train someone to replace a habit that is usually harmful with another one. For example, I’ve given her a keychain stress ball. If the urge to tug at her hair arises, she must squeeze the ball instead. It takes time, but eventually, she can stop since her habit will shift to the ball. Of course, she needs to work on breathing and being mindful of herself. I’ll help every step of the way, but she has to work on-”
“Mom! Dad! Look, Josh is walking !”
The memory is forcefully shut away as Dudley can not afford to let his grief drag him down. He stands quickly, looking around the room for something Nott can squeeze, when a light thump has him swinging his head toward the nightstand.
Much like Harry’s clock, there is a tiny little blue pillow with golden trimming. It fits the size of his palm. He turns it around, surprised to see an embroiled singing toad on it. That’s a particular design, but when he curls his fingers around it, the plush object has just the right amount of bounce he needs.
Nott hasn’t said anything, but between his fingers are three sandy strands. Dudley winces inwardly as he crowds the boy. Holding out the pillow, he commands. “Squeeze this.”
“What?” Nott takes the object with his free hand, staring at it like a bomb. “A toad choir pillow?
“Whenever you feel like you need to rip out your hair, you need to squeeze this pillow,” Dudley says, carefully reaching out and moving the boy’s hand from his head. Electric blue blinks at him as he helps him curl his other hand on the plush blue thing.
“Why?” Nott mutters, voice low like the one in the Charms class. Did he always whisper whenever someone got too close to him? Was that something he needed to keep an eye on?
“I’m worried about you ripping your hair out,” Dudley whispers back, keeping direct eye contact and trying his damnest to keep any judgment or shamming out of his voice. It’s the one skill that took him ages to perfect, but Mrs. Tate wouldn’t stop lecturing him until he learned. His wife also snapped at him whenever he failed to adequately address issues without sounding like he was blaming her. “Is there anything that can help you to stop?”
Nott blinks several times, looking at his hair strands trapped in his hold with wonder. “I didn’t even realize I was….I don’t know. I never tried to stop.”
“Does your head hurt?”
“It’s thumping.” Nott says quietly, “I’m used to it.”
“Right.” Dudley breaths evenly, trying so hard not to show any adverse reaction. He merely takes Nott's hands, lacing their fingers together, causing the strands to fall to the ground uncaringly. The little boy’s other hand squeezes the pillow, fingers flexing and unflexing, but Dudley doesn’t point it out.
He could take up crocheting again. He once learned it from Mrs. Tate to get her to like him enough that when he came around for the blessing to marry their daughter, she would likely say yes. He hadn’t continued the practice because he was not the best. The only successful item he could ever make was a lopsided yellow beanie for Tiffany.
But if he made a tight beanie for Nott, it may help him break his habit if reaching his hair was such a hassle. He’ll have to add buying yarn to his to-do lists.
“You’re holding my hand,” Nott gasps, holding up their intertwined fingers as if Dudley needed to see them in case he didn’t believe him.
“Yeah, I am. Are you hungry?” Dudley hurries along, tugging Nott away from his parents' stilled portrait and towards the door. “I have no idea where the dining hall is, so we may as well get back to our dorm and prepare for the day. I need to brush my teeth and take a shower.”
“We have a washroom. It’s right through there.” A door manifests to the previously empty spot that Nott points to.
The muggle-born stops, squinting at the carved wood of the door. Rainbow sparkles shine over the beautiful women with wings posing in a way that arches their bags and has their hands holding their hair up mid-fall. It’s elegantly seductive.
“I don’t trust the look of that door.” He declared, watching as the rainbow sparkles slowly vanished into thin air.
“Do you not like Veelas?” Nott questions, voice taking a particular edge to it.
“What’s a Veela?”
There was a long silence, and the two stared at each other, but eventually, Nott shook his head. He tried to hide his face, but Dudley could see a smile on the corner of his lips. “Nevermind. You can go first if you need to.”
“I don’t have any clothes or toothbrush-” A ruffling of clothes has him wiping around to gape at the clothes rack covered in neat identical uniforms. On a small stole in front of the rack is his toothbrush—the same one from the pound store, with Harry's star sticker on the handle's bottom. They got the same black colored brush since it was the cheaper option to grab the bundle, but Harry decided that adding stickers and marker drawings would help them identify them. Plus, he enjoyed expressing himself through art.
Dudley was fine with a plain toothbrush, but one look at his little cousin’s sparkling eyes convinced him to accept the star sticker.
A few sparkles glittered to the ground, and the only other movement was the random appearance of the items. He tugs Nott towards it, picking up the toothbrush with his free hand. “What is this place!?”
“The Room of Requirement,” Nott responds instantly. “A secret room in Hogwarts that can only appear when a person is in great need. It can become or create anything needed by a wizard or witch.”
“Anything?” Dudley repeated.
“Well, there are some limits, as all magic does, but if it can’t create it, the Room borrows from around the castle. The room can recreate an image of a room if the person who opens the door knows it so well. For example, this is my bedroom at my family castle.” Nott gestures around. “So it can transfigure the spare wood from the stables into familiar furniture for me, but I don’t know how to make clothes, so the Room summoned the uniforms for you.”
Dudley opened and closed his mouth before laughing. “Read that in a book, did you?”
“Yes,” Nott says with a nod. “The first building directory of Hogwarts, written by Rowena Ravenclaw herself. It didn’t have the room's location, but past Notts spent many years exploring the castle as students and recorded in the Hogwarts Discovery Book.”
“There is a Hogwarts Discovery Book?”
“Hmm.” Nott smiles somewhat wistfully. “It’s classified as a family grimoire.”
“Wow, what must I do to get my hands on that family grimoire?” Dudley jokes only to watch Nott’s face turn red as he chokes on his spit. Alarmed, he reaches out to pound on his back, attempting to help him swallow whatever got caught in his throat, but it seems more of a hindrance than any amount of help.
“Nott? Nott, are you okay?!” He asks worriedly. Desperately, he tries to call up the long-buried memory of watching someone perform the Heimlich maneuver and mentally berates himself for not learning it. Heavens he took one CPR class but never performed it on a person. Just on a mannequin, and it’s been years since then.
“I’m alright- I, um, the Hogwarts Discovery Book is a Nott family grimoire,” the boy says shyly after a few rough coughs. Worried, Dudley crowds him, wishing for some water to help- a cup of water appears in his hand with a burst of colorful silver sparkles.
He stares at it in shock. His hand hadn’t even been in a position to hold anything. How did the room do that?! Magic is so weird sometimes.
Unaware of his wonderment about the room’s magic, Nott continues to speak, attempting to smoother small fits of cough as he mutters, “So you can't get your hands on the Hogwarts Discovery Book unless you know-”
Dudley pats his shoulder twice, attempting to get his attention. The boy looks so mystified at the action that his words are cut off midsentence.
“Here, drink this.” He offered up the cup, deciding he wouldn’t waste time figuring out how this happened. Nott took the water offered, downing it in fast gulps. “Slowly, slowly, you don’t want to choke again. There we go.”
“Thank you for the water and the offer, but….even if you don’t mind losing your magic, I’m sorry, I can’t agree to get married.” He whispers as if afraid of Dudley’s reaction. Meanwhile, the blond muggle-born lets out a wheeze that could cross between a drying cat and a standardized mother in church. Nott wrings his hands together, biting his lip. “Do you need a hug? Muggle-borns do that, don’t they?”
“I- you are a child !” Dudley screams, backing away from the boy as fast as possible. He doesn’t stop until he feels the wood pressing against his back, and even then, he’s grasping for the wall, trying to sink further into it. “A baby ! A baby that should never be thinking about getting married! Especially to me! I’m too old for you!”
Nott makes a doubtful face. “You just asked to be added to my family grimoire.”
“When!?” Dudley demands in a high-pitched scream, only to regret the action at the way Nott curls in on himself. He waves his hands desperately. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just- I don’t know how I ever implied marriage to you when I asked about the grimoire. You’re too young for that, Nott!”
“I fear you have lost me,” the boy says cautiously. “You were the one who’s been physically touching me since you met me and asked about my family grimoire. I understand you don’t have much to lose, as your family has no family magic, but you were the one being forward.
“Being forward !?” Dudley gapes. What eleven-year-old told like that? He covers his mouth with one hand, pressing another to his chest and shaking in place by how scandalized he is. Distantly, he realizes Nott is starting to look amused. “What do-I never intended- I just want to be friends!”
Nott considered his words. “Friends? That’s all?”
“Yes! Just friends. Platonic buddies. Brothers from different mothers!” Dudley shouts, waving his arms about in a panic. Would the kid be offended if he threw up? He feels so disgusted by the mere suggestion he might actually throw up. “I do not and likely won’t ever like you like that!”
“Because I’m a Nott?” Theo’s voice is even, but a devastating weight is on his thin shoulder, attempting to drag them down. The young child is nearly buckling under the sadness that his question possesses.
Dudley scoffs. “I don’t care about your bloodline. It will never happen because I’m far too old for you. I’m far too old for any student here. I’m old enough to be floating down the river in a box!”
A loud silence echoes through the room before a strange wheezing sound starts from Nott’s lips, rolling back and forth between his cheeks until he can’t keep his mouth closed. A startled bark of laughter escaped Nott as if he laughed like he hadn't meant to, and he was ambushed by something funny.
Once the laughter starts, the boy doesn’t seem to be able to stop. He shakes with it, gasping and cackling like he’s attempting to smother the sound, but isn’t strong enough. He raises his arms, hands fluttering like butterflies around his face, and Dudley wonders how anyone could look at this little boy and decide he shouldn’t have been born.
Nott’s laughter is contagious, and Dudley can feel it rushing towards his chest and bursting into a brilliant, warm fire. He finds himself chuckling along until it grows louder, and he has to suck in breaths every three or four sounds. Their laughter meshed well together, so much so it felt like they were creating a song with a savage beat as the undertone.
Dudley compared it to a manic theme song—likely something the big villain would strut out of the shadows to. It only made him laugh louder, which sent Nott into another spiral.
Eventually, the two could calm down, occasionally letting tiny snickers slip.
“Alright. Alright. You aren’t interested in anyone our age.” Nott grins. “We all have cooties.”
Dudley gasps, raises a hand, and then realizes it is probably best to let the child think he is not mature enough to consider a relationship. “That’s right, people are gross.”
“I’m sure.”
Is it normal to be condescended by an eleven-year-old? As Dudley ponders this, Nott’s eyes widen, and he hastily looks down to play with the hem of his shirt. “Sorry, that was….I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…I’ll be quiet from now on.”
Mystified, the muggle-born wonders why he would think he wanted him to be quiet. “No, it’s all good. I like hearing your voice.”
Nott turns bright red before he clears his throat. Awkwardly, the boy squeezes the pillow once more until his knuckles go white. Dudley feels a rush of glee to see him use the makeshift stress ball to quickly. His voice lowers to a whisper again, not meeting Dudley’s eyes. “ We should go to breakfast.”
Dudley nods, picking up his toothbrush and heading towards the washroom. “Let me just get ready. Room? Can you bring my bag and textbooks?”
A thump is heard near the bed, prompting a quick “Thank you!” from the muggle-born. Nott watches him go from the corner of his eye but doesn’t say anything as Dudley scurries to get red for the day.
A quick toilet break, fast teeth brushing, and Dudley is back in the room. He offers it to the other blond, who dips his head and rushes in, closing the door behind him with a loud slam. A few seconds later, the washroom's open and closed drawers echo.
He bites back the urge to tell the child to be gentle when opening things as he quickly changes into a new uniform. It takes a few tries, seeing as wizards don’t place the size numbers on any tags, but eventually, he finds a uniform that fits him. It took mismatching some outfits, but he now wears trousers that reach his ankles, his outer robe falls comfortably to the same length, and his shoulders aren’t straining against any fabric.
Nott emerges from the washroom, fully dressed and hair groomed to perfection in an artistic tussle. Dudley squints, staring at the boy's structured hair. “How did you apply hair products so quickly?”
The boy looks startled by the question. “I didn't. I just brushed it.”
“Wait, so that’s just genetics ?”
Nott's face flushes again, scruffing his foot on the ground. “I guess.”
“Lucky. Mine stands up all over the place if I leave it alone.” Dudley sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Spaking of which. Room? Can I have a comb?”
A soft tap on wood has him turning to look at the dresser pushed up against the wall on his right. There sits a nice black plastic comb that looks muggle enough that he knows a muggle-born will lose their mind trying to find it later.
Oh, Dudley can get used to the Room of Requirement. He bets he could make money off it if he thinks long enough. He’ll have to devise a plan, but it was something to consider. Anything to provide for Harry. Grabbing his bag, he gestures towards the door.
“Shall we?”
Nott nods, carefully lifting his satchel over his shoulder. It’s dark brown leather that must have cost him a future. Dudley’s black backpack is the same one since he started primary school, and two straps on his shoulders feel out of place among his Fittin robes.
He drops to one strap. Perfect.
“Now, how do I get to the dining hall? " he mutters as the door vanishes behind them. Nott’s hand reaches his head, so Dudley quickly takes it into his own, squeezing the fingers as he glances around.
A soft noise leaves the child’s mouth.
“Yesterday, I wasn’t exactly paying attention to where I was going,” He admits, acting like he didn’t notice how he stopped Nott from tugging his hair. It’s not an easy habit to break, but it’s best not to make him ashamed.
Nott shifts his feet a little before responding. “I know the way. I memorized Hogwarts’ layout.”
“What? We’ve only been here one day!” Dudle gasps, prompting the boy to duck hi head with a small smile.
“It’s in my family grimoire, so I haven’t exactly walked the path, but I have the directions.” He admits.
“Well, then lead the way. I’m starving!”
“People will see you with me.” Not warns, tugging their linked hands to lead Dudley down the hallway. They bypass some portraits that run from their frames the second they spot the little blond boy. Dudley’s skin crawls at the sight, grateful that they leave.
They are still creepy, no matter how natural it is in the wizarding world.
Nott watches them stumble and crash into each other. He bites his lip. “Dursley, it won’t just be people that avoid you because of me. The portraits and the ghosts will too, because magic is what’s anchoring-”
Dudley spins around, grabbing the child by the shoulders. Nearly bumping his head against the boy, he shakes the child as he demands, “Are you saying you’re a ghost repellent ?!”
“Y-yes?”
Dudley feels like he can fall to his knees and weep with joy. He drags the boy into an excited hug, jumping up and down with glee. Nott is frozen in his arms as he cheers. “Theodore Nott, you are a blessing! Never, ever leave my side while at Hogwarts, alright?”
The little boy chocks, but slowly, he returns his hug. Dudley pretends he doesn’t feel the tremble in the by’s arms or the tears on his shoulder. He merely rocks side to side with a laugh. “Let’s go get some food!”
Nott doesn’t look him in the eye for a while, but he does squeeze his fingers in gratitude. They walk the rest of the way without a word. Dudley is mildly interested in the way Nott navigates. He stops randomly searching the walls or ceiling before focusing on specific decorations and marches on once he knows where he is.
His ancestors must have used them as markers,s but that leaves the question. Did anyone ever bother to redecorate Hogwarts? That’s weird.
Crossing the bridge connecting the tower to the central part of the building, Nott doesn’t go towards the large door; instead, he pulls Dudley towards a wall covered in a carving of a luscious garden. Various animals are depicted among the flora. He taps his knuckles on the badger five times before it leaps into a hole of a den, and the whole expands into a thin doorway with a swirl of red glitter.
Opening it reveals a stairway that Nott gestures to. “This will take us directly to the dining hall. It’s faster than going through the castle. We shouldn’t encounter anyone on the way since not many people know of the shortcuts…..you won’t have to see any portraits or ghosts if you use the castle’s hidden servant halls.”
Dudley grins. “You just saved me from dropping out.”
The boy beams at him. “I can show you the rest if you want. I used one to get to Charms yesterday. But there are supposed to be hundreds or more passages that I haven’t had the chance to see yet.”
“Can we show Harry too?”
At that, Nott hesitates. “The secret passages aren’t meant to be shared by so many people.”
“I hear you,” Dudley nods, understanding the rejection without hearing the boy say the words. He gives the hand in his hold a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “ Harry has the Pits he can’t describe to others, so he’ll understand you want to keep this between us.”
The boy sighs in relief, climbing the stairs with a curt “Thank you.”
“Of course.” The stairway is long, but it’s big enough that they can climb with their hands still joined. Eventually, a burning in his knees lets him know that they have been climbing when a door appears before them for a while.
Nott pushes it upwards like a latch, and Dudley climbs out from underneath the bottom of a pillar next to the Grand Hall. Various students linger around the hallway, but none look in their direction, even though they just appeared in the crowd.
Dudley would think that the small shining symbols around the secret entrance doorway were distracting enough that he would have stopped to look at them without seeing two children climb from the ground. However, these students were used to random light shows around the castle if they were raised in magic or at least since starting school.
Likely.
The second the latch closes, the lights vanish, and people suddenly dance around them, looking disgusted at Nott. Whatever emotions Nott had previously been showing are locked away behind a guarded mask of forced indifference, though sadness dances on the edge of his jaw.
Dudley, for his part, sneers at a few people in return, tugging the boy towards the door. Inside the Great Hall, breakfast is well underway with chattering children and cluttering of utensils. A few professors are seated at the high table, chatting among themselves, and no one pays Dudley or Nott any mind.
Nott moves towards the Slytherin table, but Dudley stops him with a head shake. “Let’s go sit with Harry.”
“What?” His roommate's words are strained with shock: “At the Gryffindor table?”
‘Yeah. I want to see how his night went.”
“We can’t sit there! We’re Slytherins!”
“Is there a rule, written in any formal rule book, that says we can’t?” The boy opens and closes his mouth, lost for words. Taking that as an answer, Dudley leads the pair, happily walking towards the far end of the red-colored table where Harry and Hermione are seated.
The two children have their heads bent together, and one of Harry’s sketchbooks is between them. Their plates are pushed to the side, but the young girl mostly has fruits and eggs. Harry’s is stacked with chicken and hashbrowns.
“Good morning,” He greets as he nears them.
Harry snaps his head with a relieved expression, only to freeze when he sees them. He straightens up, reaching for his plate as Dudley practically manhands Nott into taking a seat across the pair.
"Ley, Nott, why are you two holding hands?" Harry's smile is friendly and welcoming, but the way he stabs his chicken with his knife is not. His plate rattles against the table from the force. There is the faintest shaking of his fingers around the handle as if Harry was fighting the urge to do it again.
Hmm, that doesn't look like the other butterknives the rest of the Gryfindors are using. Where did Harry get a carving knife from?
Nott lets out a small, terrified whimper as Dudley's eyebrow twitches. "Harry, don't play with your food."
“Sorry.” Harry takes his knife back, picking up his fork to cut his chicken as if nothing happened. Hermione scoots away from Harry, sharing a glance that could have been one of alarm with Nott.
“Why are you holding hands?” he repeats, sickly sweet honey dripping from his words.
“I wanted to. You know I liked physical contact,” Dudley shrugs. “What are you two looking at?”
“Harry was showing me some of his Goblin drawings.” Hermoine jumps in quickly, shooting his cousin a nervous glance. She brightens a little as she gestures towards the pages. “It’s fascinating to see how much goblins use symbolism in their outfits. See this one? The Goblin prince wears his crown around his bicep instead of his head since only the head of the Bank can wear a crown properly.”
Dudley already knew that, as he was familiar with Trox, but he offered her an amazed “That’s so cool” anyway. Sometimes, you just have to let kids tell you things again if only to watch them glow with happiness.
“By the way, Ley, Professor Snape is looking for you. He’s upset you missed detention.” Harry says, sounding much more relaxed now. He places a bit of his cut chicken on a plate, and after piling some food from the surrounding food, he places it in front of a startled Nott.
Dudley's heart swells with pride and warmth as Harry offers his roommate a wink. He feels that feeling grow as Harry quickly makes another plate for Dudley, acting like he didn’t notice everyone taking glances at their group.
The muggle-born slaps a hand on his forehead. “I knew I forgot something! Shoot, and I have detention with Flitwick, so I can’t make it up tonight!”
“Maybe he’ll settle for you doing it tomorrow? I can let Rubeus know you won’t be able to make it for our planned visit.” Harry offers, and the mention of the half-giant makes Dudley freeze before he can control the reaction.
His baby cousins’s green eyes sharpen. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Nothing.” He hastes to say, not wanting to get into that particular conversation in the middle of the Grand Hall. Harry’s face hardens, which means he is going to demand information. Thinking quickly, Dudley exclaims, “Did you know Nott’s hair naturally looks like this?”
Harry blinks. “No products?”
“None, just a brush through and genetics!”
Nott’s jaw drops when Harry leans over the table and grabs his hand. “I have to draw you.”
“Oh, you two don’t look alike, but I see the family resemblance.” The blond boy shutters after a moment of stunned silence. Hermione looks to be smothering a smile at Harry’s side. The muggle-born girl flips through Harry’s book before stopping midway through the large book.
A charcoal image of herself rests on the pages when she flips it around. It’s not a picture-accurate drawing—it seems that was done in haste, and the storks are a bit darker than usual—but Dudely can say that Harry has improved with the media well over the summer. The part that draws attention to the image is Harry's great care in styling her hair, making it bushy and big and displaying it as a gorgeous centerpiece.
“He did the same to me.” She smiles warmly at the blond child. She puffs up a little, pride shining in her eyes. “He said my hair was pretty.”
How she says that lets Dudley know she’s not used to people complimenting her hair, though why not is a mystery to him. She had a lot of big, bushy hair and framed her face in an adorable halo.
Not to mention, as far as he could tell, it was completely natural. She was blessed with that much volume and curls. He knew people paid big money to get close to what her hair did.
“He’s right. It’s lovely,” He tells the girl, who flushes with happiness even if she attempts to play it off. He turns his attention to his cousin, whose eyes trace Nott’s features as though he was memorizing their shape to later put down on paper.
“When did you have the time to draw Granger?” He asks.
“Last night, after you ran off and disappeared for hours! I was worried sick!” Harry complains. “If it weren’t for Professor Snape spotting me wandering around looking for you, I would have stayed looking after curfew. Though I didn’t want to upset him, Hermoine let me draw her to stay calm.”
Once again, Professor Snape proved that he was an excellent teacher. No wonder Harry named one of his children after him in the future.
“Speaking of,” Harry glances over Nott’s shoulder. “Here he comes.”
“Nott! Dursley! My office now! ” The man snaps, making all three children jump. Dudley merely raises a brow, wondering why he sounds so upset. “You have much explaining to do about where you two have been! Do not think I did not notice you were not in your dorm or that you will get out of this unpunished!”
Ah. Yes, Professor Snape was a great man indeed. Poor thing was likely worried about where his students had run off to.
Dudley and Harry beam at the potion master, and Professor Snape leans back as if someone is waving a live wire in front of his face. The expression on his face causes the pair of cousins to laugh.
The man glances between them before words slip from his mouth. As if he wasn’t aware, he let them fall. “Oh no. It’s the summer holidays all over again. But this time, the redhead and blond can stand each other. I'm going to suffer for seven years....the makeovers. Oh, the makeovers.“
Huh. What an odd thing to say.