I have to stop meeting witches and wizards in bars, Dudley thought a week later, fingers anxiously drumming on the outside of his pint glass as he glanced at the door, checking for Cho for probably the fifth time that minute. At best, it’s awkward. At worst…
He had to admit that, in the short term at least, the last time he’d met Cho had been one hell of a fun worst-case scenario. He’d headed back home some hours later than initially planned, sobered up thanks to a spell from Cho and only mildly dishevelled. He’d hit the motorway with a grin, thinking that getting laid really wasn’t anything he’d seen on the horizon for Harry’s wedding – and maybe, just maybe, having a hard time shaking the impish smile of the pretty witch in the sparkling silver dress.
And then, last week, his parents had called and – he looked up at the door again, hoping for Cho’s arrival to interrupt that particular train of reminiscence. But the more he looked at the door, the more Cho wasn’t there, so he sighed, knocked back his pint, and set it down. He thought briefly about buying another, but he had to make the cash he had right now last – especially with a baby on the – no, best to block out that particular line of thought too. Block it all out, and hope like hell the beer hit soon. Or that Cho arrived. Preferably both.
***
He’d been pretty lucky, all things considered. Not with all of this – all of this was a horrendous nightmare. But after the worst had happened, Malcom had had a spare bedroom in his flat in London, and hadn’t really asked any questions. That had been the first priority taken care of for now. Getting a job was, Dudley thought generously of his efforts the last week, a work in progress, but he had a roof over his head at least.
His next priority had been contacting Cho. This had been a welcome relief: puzzling out how he was going to get in touch with her meant that he was far more busy thinking about that than what he was going to say once he did find her. Somehow, in among all the words that had been said in that fateful phone call, it had slipped Dad’s mind to give him anything he could have used to talk to her. From what he remembered of Dad’s outbursts – and somehow, they’d seemed an awful lot funnier when they were directed at someone else – wizards weren’t exactly the telephoning types. In fact, the more he’d thought about it, the less he realised he knew about Cho. He didn’t know where she lived, didn’t know what she did – he mostly just knew about her teenage dating life, and it turns out that wasn’t a great way to track someone down. And so he’d called Harry, and… all that had happened. But somewhere, among the tears, the pauses, and the mutual confessions of impending fatherhood, he’d got an address: a London flat not too far from where he was crashing.
Dudley had never been a particularly big writer. Smeltings gave plenty of homework, but they’d also given him plenty of smaller boys he could copy it from, or, in a pinch, bully into doing it for him. So when he settled down at Malcom’s tiny kitchen table with a much chewed pen, he hadn’t known what to send to Cho. Who wrote letters nowadays? Most Muggles – Dudley supposed that he was going to have to start using the language now – would probably settle for a ‘sorry I knocked you up’ greetings card, but wizards seemed a bit more old fashioned. In the end, he opted to keep it pretty simple:
Dear Cho,
I know you tried to get in touch but I didn’t quite get your letter exactly. But I still heard Big News. I’m living staying in London right now too, can we meet for a drink? Maybe just a coke for you… I don’t know much about your type of pubs but the Spoons on Denmark Street is pretty good. Write back with a time and I’ll be there. We need to talk about a lot.
He’d fought long and hard with himself over how exactly to sign off. He was pretty sure you were supposed to end proper grown up letters with ‘yours sincerely’, but that definitely felt all wrong. He was pretty sure that the last letter he’d written, a thank you note to Aunt Marge some fifteen years ago, had ended with ‘lots of love from’, at Mum’s insistence. That didn’t fit here either.
He ended up settling for a simple “Dudley”. Then, after a minute’s thought, he added “Dursley” afterwards – then had second thoughts and crossed that out. If I don’t send this now, Dudley thought, I’ll cross the whole thing out and have to start it all over again from scratch. So he’d carefully folded it inside an envelope, found a stamp, and posted it.
Two days later, Dudley and Malcom were playing PS2 in the evening, Malcom taking care to avoid asking Dudley anything about why he was staying there and Dudley taking care not to respond to the unasked question. Suddenly, there was a loud thud from the next room and Malcom hit pause.
“The fuck was that?” He frowned, rising from his seat. “Sounds like a bird hit the window or something.”
A bird, Dudly thought, springing to his feet, shit shit shit. “Oh, I’ll check it out,” he said, his tone as airily casual as he could force it to be. “I need to piss anyway. Need anything while I’m up?”
The barn owl Dudley found on windowsill in his room was only a little stunned: but around its leg was tied a roll of something like paper – thicker, and older feeling. Dudley had never really had a chance to see one up close on its deliveries before: an owl was usually accompanied by his father screaming, and he’d not given any thought to the messages they actually carried before now.
“Everything okay out there?” shouted Malcom from the lounge.
“Yeah, hang on a min, I’m just looking for something,” said Dudley, willing the bird in front of him to say quiet.
“Sure man. If you’re not back in a minute, I’m unpausing without you.”
Trying to work as quickly as possible, Dudley’s shaking fingers fumbled the ribbon, and the bird fidgeted – when he managed to pry the note away, the bird gave a mournful hoot.
“Oh, thanks,” said Dudley, and then immediately felt stupid. The bird turned away with about as much dignity as it could muster, considering that it had recently smashed headfirst into a glass pane – and flew into the night.
“Is that an owl or something?” Malcom shouted from the other room. But Dudley barely heard him. He was too busy looking at the message he’d seen on the parchment once he unrolled it, written in a careful, looping hand:
Sounds good. I definitely didn’t have to look up what a Spoons was. Sorry I can’t join you in any more drinking after last time… How about tomorrow night at seven? I’ll see you there.
Cho x
***
He looked to the door of the bar again, fiddling with the damp beermat – and suddenly, she was here. She was in muggle clothes, dark jeans and a blue t shirt that she didn’t seem entirely at ease in. She’s not showing yet, said a part of his brain he was determined to ignore. Cho was scanning the room for him, uncertain. He raised a hand to wave at her, and as he did so, knocked his empty pint glass, sending it rolling across the table. As he caught her attention, he grabbed it with his other hand and narrowly avoided it rolling off the table and shattering on the floor. Smooth, he thought. You’ve got this, Dudley.
She came over and sat down across from him, and he wondered for a moment what to do next. Should they hug? They almost certainly shouldn’t kiss. But somehow, a handshake seemed to formal. She settled the matter by giving him a light tap on the shoulder. “Hi,” she said, and even after everything, just that touch set a kind of magic flowing through him that was entirely unique to Cho.
“Hey,” he said. Close to, he could see how tired she looked: her eyes were heavy with a lack of sleep, and when she wasn’t making eye contact with him, she was staring slightly hazily into the middle distance. “How… how are you doing?” he asked.
She gave him a weary smile. “How do you think? I’ve been throwing up all morning – you’ll excuse me if I don’t grab anything from the bar.” He shrugged – he hadn’t exactly been expecting her to crack open a bottle of red. “I’ve been mainlining pumpkin juice, my mum says it’s meant to help, but I feel like all it’s done is given my body more ammunition to force out into the nearest toilet.” She sighed. “When I can reach it, I’ve already had to vanish a couple of accidents. How are you doing?”
“Not great. My parents, um, weren’t exactly thrilled about the situation.”
She patted his arm, and Dudley did his best to suppress the shiver this sent through him: now was not the time. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I hope my letter didn’t… I mean, it was the only way I could get in touch.”
“It’s... fine,” said Dudley, not sure if it was. “They had to find out somehow, I suppose. There wasn’t ever going to be a good way to break that news.”
“I’m sorry, though,” she said. “I thought my parents were going to literally kill me, but they’ve been… okay. They know it’s been a tough few months, I think they mostly just want to help out, even if they’re disappointed.” Cho shrugged. Dudley nodded and tried to look like someone who understood what this sort of constructive, healthy relationship with one’s parents was like. “I’m sorry your parents aren’t taking it well,” she added. “Maybe they’ll get used to it.”
Cho had somehow cut through his entire miserable situation and found the only take on it that could possibly make Dudley laugh. “Yeah, um, I’m not so sure,” he said.
She peered at him inquisitively. “You said at the wedding, that you and Harry was… complicated.” Dudley nodded. “Is that part of it?”
“Yeah.”
“I get it, Dudley.” Cho took a deep breath, and they made eye contact. She no longer looked distant and glazed – he had her undivided attention, and Dudley was incredibly glad, glad to be basking in her attention and her understanding. “Look,” said Cho, “Sorry for going out on a limb here, but it’s pretty clear that Harry was always your parents’ favourite. But I’m sure eventually they’ll-“
“What?” Dudley was glad that he’d finished his drink some time ago, because if he’d had any in his mouth right now, he’d have spat it all over the table, Cho, and their unborn child.
“Look, I’m just saying, I’m sure they’re all over Harry, but you’re-“
“No, that’s… um, that’s really not it,” said Dudley carefully. “They’re not exactly Harry’s biggest fan either.”
“Oh!” Cho was blushing a little. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”
“It’s fine,” Dudley said. “Honestly, it… I don’t know, it’s so wrong that it’s kind of refreshing.”
She shrugged. “I just sort of… I don’t know, everyone always fawns over Harry for being the chosen one, and being so special, and he gets so much special treatment. Everyone bends the rules for famous Harry Potter. You know that he’s the only auror ever to not even finish school, him and Ron?” Dudley nodded, trying to seem like someone who knew either what that meant or why it was quite so scandalous. “I just assumed that…”
“It’s not…” Dudley shrugged. “It’s not that. They really don’t like Harry that much, either. I don’t know if he’s even going to tell them he’s having a kid, to be honest.”
“That he’s what?” Any sense of awkwardness he was getting from Cho evaporated as she looked at him keenly, eyebrows raised. “You’re telling me he and Ginny are-“
Dudley nodded. “Yeah. Apparently, I don’t know. I called them to find out how to get in touch with you-“ Cho was looking at him quizzically, and he shrugged. “Oh, Mum and Dad didn’t get round to giving me your details before they…” he decided to leave a pause instead of actually saying the words ‘cut me off, kicked me out, and told me they’re never going to speak to me again’. “I had to call Harry to work out how to get in touch with you.”
“And Harry just casually dropped that they’re having a baby?”
“No, not exactly, I…” Dudley shifted in his chair, and felt Cho brush up against him reassuringly. “I was pretty cut up about it. I’d only just called them, I realised I had to find a place to live, that I was never going to… to see them again…”
“It’s that bad?” Cho was looking at him with concern, and Dudley wanted badly to get out of this pub. Maybe if it was just the two of them, if there weren’t other Muggles surrounding them… maybe then he could get all the words out that stumbled over each other and fought for attention. But they’d chosen this spot as… neutral ground. Somewhere safe for both of them while they worked out everything they needed to about this whole mess that his life had become. He found that he could only barely meet Cho’s gaze.
“Yeah,” he said finally, “yeah, it’s… it’s bad, Cho.”
“Well, I…” she shrugged. “I’m sorry. It’s never easy, losing people, no matter how it…”
“It’s fine,” said Dudley. “I don’t really want to talk about them just now.” Or ever, he added to himself.
“Of course.” After a moment’s quiet, she gave him a weak grin. “Are you… are you okay talking about Harry? Because you can’t tell me that piece of gossip and not follow up on it.”
Her smile was infectious, and Dudley found himself returning it. His entire world was upside down right now, but what did that matter? Cho Chang was smiling at him. “Oh, just… I told him about everything that was going on. And how… I don’t know, how I don’t feel ready.” He put a hand on hers, trying once again to stifle the thrill, eager to reassure her. “And… I don’t want you to think I’m not going to step up, I-“
“Hey, it’s okay. I get it. Me too.”
He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Anyway, um… I was saying that and he… said he and Ginny were having a baby. And that he was scared too, and…” he shrugged. “I think he was trying to help.”
Cho laughed, although it sounded fairly humourless to Dudley. “Oh, that has to be just about the most Harry Potter story imaginable,” she said. “I mean, I’m sure he meant well, but he really thought that him and his wife having a baby together was the same as you and me…”
The words hung there, both of them finishing the sentence themselves. Dudley suddenly realised that there was so much to talk about that they’d barely even talked about. “Cho?” He said, and feeling himself say her name made him far more excited than he had any right to be, given the next question. “The, um, the…” he motioned generally towards he abdomen.
Cho looked at him evenly. “You can say baby,” she said, “it’s not going to make my waters burst right here and now.”
He smiled weakly. “Okay, yes, the baby, your – our baby…” Just saying it felt like he was making it more real, speaking it into existence.
“Yeah?” said Cho, entirely serious now.
“What are we going to do?”
Cho took a deep breath. “I think I want to keep it.” She shook her head, the black ripples of her hair catching the light even in the gloom of the pub. “Actually, no,” she said, “I know I want to keep it. I know this is all, like, the worst timing, and there’s going to be a lot I have to deal with, but…” she shrugged. “I just really want kids.” Apparently having kids straight out of school is just a wizard thing, Dudley thought. “Like, I’ve wanted kids as long as I can remember. And… the timing might not be right, but it’s not like any of the plans I’ve made before have worked out for me.” She shrugged. “I guess I’m just ready to roll with the punches.” She smiled at him. “There, I learnt a boxing word. I hope you’re proud.”
It wasn’t fair, Dudley thought. It wasn’t fair that he was trying to focus on what they were talking about, on these important decisions that were going to shape not just their future, but someone else’s entirely… and she was making him laugh. Dudley reached out, his hand touching hers. “That’s okay,” he said. It… was, he supposed. It was terrifying, and he wasn’t ready for it, but what was he ready for, now? What didn’t scare him? It wasn’t up to him if Cho wanted to go through with this – for better or for worse, he supposed, he was along for the ride now. He looked at her. Dudley Dursley and Cho Chang – parents. He still couldn’t quite see it. “So, are we gonna, um…” Cho looked at him quizzically, as Dudley reached around in this pool of deep awkwardness for the right words. “I want to be a good dad,” he said eventually. “I want to be there. Do we… do we live together? Do wizards have…” Dudley’s background of being a student kicked in, and weeks of watching The Jerry Springer Show and Jeremy Kyle helped him find the words, “custody agreements? Visitation rights?”
Cho smiled at him, and Dudley tried very hard not to feel his mood immediately lifted by it. “Well, ever since Michael moved out, I’ve been looking for a flatmate,” she said. “Nice Muggle neighbourhood, too, don’t worry.”
“That’s… great.” Said Dudley. “Since my parents… Well, I’ve been looking for a place to stay lately,” he finished lamely. “And I want to be around as much as possible. For the baby.” Right, said a treacherous voice at the back of his head, for the baby. He did his best to ignore it.
“I just want to make sure you understand, though,” she said, “There’s a spare room. I do mean just for the baby.” She smiled at him, and Dudley’s stomach decided to ignore any of the words she said and do a flip anyway. “I had a really great time at the wedding! And I really like seeing you. But I think we’ve both got…” she waved in the general direction of the world, “a lot going on right now, you know? And I don’t think that this is the best time to start anything new. You understand, right?”
“Of course,” said Dudley, in an even, measured tone that showed no disappointment at all. Hopefully. He felt the conversation stiffen up and decided to try a different tack: there was no time for his wounded ego, no time for the conversation to lapse into silence: there was too much to sort out, too much that was too important to leave. “So, um, will they… will they have magic?”
“The baby?” Cho asked. Dudley nodded. “Oh, yeah,” she said, “almost certainly. I mean… I’m a witch, and that’s almost always enough anyway, but also…” Cho frowned, doing some kind of quick mental arithmetic, “Your aunt was Harry’s mum, right? Because Potter’s a wizarding name… so you’re related to a muggleborn, you must have some tiny bit of magical blood in you too.”
“It’s that easy to work out?”
Cho shrugged. “There’s some kind of special table you can run it all through and get an answer if you’re really curious, but it’s pretty cut and dry here. You’re going to be having a magical baby.” Dudley did his best not to flinch at the word, and saw Cho noticing. “Is that… okay with you?”
“Of course,” said Dudley quickly. “I… I was just thinking about my parents. They’re not magic’s biggest fans, and so they wouldn’t…” he flailed, reaching for the words, and shrugged. “Fuck them,” he said, finding two words that fit surprisingly well. “I don’t care, and I kind of… I think magic’s pretty cool anyway.”
In the moment after expressing this deeply blasphemous thought aloud, Dudley noticed that the sky failed to fall on his head with a deafening roar. In fact, nothing had happened at all, apart from Cho giving him kind of a puzzled smile.
“That’s why they threw you out?” she said.
Dudley nodded. “I mean, I think I’d have been in some deep shit if I’d got anyone pregnant, obviously. But when they found out I’d met a witch, let alone…” his mind wandered for a second to a very fun memory of exactly what he had done with a witch, and his cheeks flashed crimson and he went quiet.
Cho laughed, gentle. “And here was I thinking they were just racist.”
“Oh,” said Dudley, “I mean, that too, don’t get me wrong.” She laughed again and somehow, for a second, even his parents’ cruelty was something he could laugh at and then set aside. “Hey,” he said, changing track, anxious to cover all the burning questions he had for her, “where do you work? What do wizards…do?” Dudley knew he wasn’t going to understand a word of the response, but if he and Cho were going to be in this together, he knew he should find out a little more about the situation.
“I’m a junior liason officer at Gringotts.” Despite his attempts to keep a poker face, she smirked at him. “I, uh, work in a bank in… well, the Muggle equivalent would be human resources. More like… goblin resources.”
“Goblin resources,” said Dudley, “right.”
“It’s… okay. I don’t know if I want to do it forever, but it’s a good start and it’s stable.” She shrugged. “I can’t say when I started I asked what the maternity leave policy was, but I feel like they’ll at least be pretty supportive. What about you?”
“I… ah.” Said Dudley. Suddenly, this line of enquiry didn’t seem like it had been the best idea. “Well, I was a student, but when Mum and Dad…” he shrugged. “It’s probably not what I should be doing right now anyway,” he said. “With the…”
“Baby, yes,” said Cho, coaching him through it with a slight eyeroll. Dudley really hoped he wasn’t wearing out her patience.
“I just feel like I should bring in some kind of money,” said Dudley wretchedly, who had never felt less employable than he did in that moment. If he’d taken Dad up on his offer for a summer’s work experience at Grunnings, he’d still have been kicked out of the house after a flaming row, but at the very least he’d have been able to put a few months of something practical on his CV. Somehow, “I spent two months procrastinating on a research project” didn’t have quite the same ring to it.
“So you’re… between jobs?” said Cho.
“Let’s go with that, yeah.” He tried to avoid meeting her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“I mean it’s not your fault,” said Cho, “you didn’t know you were going to be…”
She trailed off, and it was Dudley’s turn to fill in. “Bringing a little life into the world?” he said. The words crept, unbidden, from the kind of horrible phrasing he’d heard his mother use to describe the arrival of babies she Personally Approved of. He suspected that in this situation, she’d be more likely to use some of the words she’d use for babies she didn’t approve of: ‘born into shame’ came to mind, as did ‘broken home’, and, whispered with quiet emphasis, ‘single mother’, usually followed by his father grumbling something about benefits.
Cho laughed. “Wow, that’s one way to put it.”
“I’m trying,” said Dudley, which was broadly true. Up until now, so much of his time had been spent thinking about Cho – worrying about if he was going to be able to find her, if she’d want to talk to him, what they were going to do, whether they would… he shook his head to dislodge that particular train of thought. No sense in indulging that right now. He had answers now, or they were working on answers, and even if a few of them were not exactly what he’d wanted, they were a lot better than stewing in uncertainty. Now he had room left inside his head to actually devote to work out what he was going to do next, instead of only thinking about what they were going to do next. Of course, said a treacherous voice inside his head, now that he’d seen Cho – the flash of her wry smile, the glistening of her hair, the gentle touch of her hand on his arm – he was likely to spend even more time thinking of her…
“I’d offer to help,” said Cho, “but I think I was pretty distracted through the term when I was meant to be learning about muggle careers.”
“With what?”
Cho went quiet for a moment, and Dudley worried he’d said the wrong thing. But the hint of a smile crept back across her face – and Dudley hated himself for having spent so many seconds searching for it.
“If you must know,” she said, “breaking up with your cousin. Among… other things. It was a tough year.” She seemed calm right now, however, and was looking at him intently. “Dudley?” His mouth was dry, suddenly, dry enough that he was really craving another beer. He wasn’t able to say anything, so he just nodded. “Dudley… thanks. For tracking me down, for coming here, for everything.”
Dudley said “of course.” It wasn’t enough, but what else was he supposed to say? He’d never really been interested in words: they’d never seemed important. He’d had endless toys to slam around until they broke, he’d had screaming that either had no words or where the words themselves hadn’t mattered, and later he’d had bulk and fists and frowns. Harry might have got sent to school at eleven with a reading list, but when Dudley went to Smeltings, they’d given him a stick to hit people with. All the things he needed in the world hadn’t needed many words to make him happy, or safe, or to get him what he wanted, so he’d never paid words much attention: but somehow, he felt like if he’d only cared about words his whole life, he’d never have the enough words – have the right words – to say to Cho at this moment.
“You didn’t have to. I mean, you did, you’re doing the right thing, but… it would have been easy not to. You could have stayed with your family, you could have…”
“I couldn’t,” said Dudley. “I needed… I mean…” Her hand was in his, their fingers entwined, and he didn’t know when it had ended up there.
“I’m just glad you’re here with me,” said Cho. “I’d much rather do this with someone else than do it all by myself.” He squeezed her hand tight; it was easier than words. And then their eyes met, and words became entirely superfluous anyway.
Before he really knew what was happening, before he even realised who started it, they were kissing. Kissing Cho should, he knew, after everything they’d talked about, be raising yet more questions: but as her hand grazed through his hair and her lips pressed against his, all he found it bringing him was certainty, rising through his chest to fill his whole being.
She tasted faintly of pumpkin. Dudley broke away for a second. “You’re okay?” he asked. “This is okay? You’re not feeling sick, or…”
Cho shook her head. “Come on,” she mumbled, giving him another peck on the lips, “let’s get out of here.”
He stood up slowly, uncertain of what was coming next. But here was Cho, smiling invitingly, and suddenly it was easier to make that step. “Do you want to…” Dudley decided to make one last attempt to be gentlemanly, and to play by the spirit of their agreement earlier. Just for the baby. They had far too much else on their plate right now… “do you want to meet again and talk more about this tomorrow, or…?”
He left the sentence hanging in the air and Cho swatted it aside impatiently, “Honestly,” she said, “It’s fine. I’m asking you to come back to mine.” He recognised the look she was giving him from the wedding, and it made his whole body shiver.
“Earlier,” he said, “you said… about how I should just move in for the baby, about…”
Cho shrugged. “I say a lot of stupid stuff sometimes,” she said. “And like I said, I like spending time with you. I had a really great time at the wedding… and now…” her hand was resting on his chest, and Dudley found himself very interested in ‘and now’.
As if from far away, he heard some part of himself still sorting out the logistics, answering the important questions, even when he was getting less and less interested in the answers. “But my stuff,” he heard himself say, “my bags and…”
“We’ll get it in the morning,” she said, and kissed him, and Dudley was suddenly struck by what an excellent idea that was. The sooner they could get back to Cho’s, the better. “Come on, Dursley,” she said, “it’s not like you can get me pregnant again.”
Dudley had to admit that she had a point.