The Unobserved Author

Eragon was roused from his waking dreams by the arrival of a message.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Argetlam,” said his guard, handing Eragon the missive, “but I was told it was urgent.”

“Is it from Orik?” Asked Eragon, fearing the worst. The final vote to select the king of the dwarves was to take place the following day, and any number of things could have gone wrong in the few hours since he had last spoken to Orik.

“No, it is from Grimstborith Iorunn,” said the guard, “she is requesting that you join her in her chambers immediately for an important discussion. She did not say what about.”

Eragon scanned the scroll quickly and confirmed that it contained no further clues. Iorunn was one of the 13 clan chiefs who had put her name forward to become the leader of the dwarves. So far, it seemed she had garnered little support, but the rock can shift quickly, as Orik was wont to say.

“What says Grimstborith Orik?” Asked Eragon.

“He is… unreachable at the moment,” said the guard evasively.

Ah, so Iorunn is not the only one engaged in some last-minute machinations, thought Eragon. He was hesitant to engage in any political maneuvering without consulting Orik, but there was no time, and to refuse Iorunn’s invitation might cause irreparable damage to their cause.

“Very well,” said Eragon, “can you take me to her?”

Eragon’s four guards led him through the vast tunnels of Tronjheim to a section he had never before explored. The halls were quiet at this late hour, and when they reached their destination, two dwarves in the wolfshead helmets of Durgrimst Vrenshrrgn let them pass without question.

Eragon entered Iorunn’s study with some trepidation. The room was spacious and lavishly decorated with the colors and symbols of her clan. A large table littered with papers and books dominated one half of the room, while the other half was dedicated to a plush collection of couches surrounding a massive wolfskin rug so large that it could only have come from a shrrg, the giant wolves of the Beor mountains from which Iorunn’s clan took their name.

It took Eragon a moment to recognize that the sole figure in the room was indeed the clan chief Iorunn. Until now, he had only seen her at clanmeets where she was dressed in fine silks and embroidered dresses with bright jewels adorning her ears and neck, or else in the armor and wolfshead helmet of the War Wolves. Now she stood before him, without her jewels and finery, in a simple robe, her long hair undone, as if she too had only just been disturbed from her rest.

Eragon found his eyes wandering downward as he assessed this change in attire. This lack of ornamentation did not decrease her famed beauty in the slightest. If anything, it enhanced it, without any gold or emeralds to distract from her bright eyes and hair, or any necklace to obscure the delicate line of her collarbone now visible above the robe, which was only loosely covering the curve of her breasts.

Eragon blushed and abruptly stopped his staring as Iorunn smirked, noticing the direction of his gaze.

Eragon bowed slightly, as much to avert his gaze as to show respect, and said, “You called for me, Grimstborith Iorunn.”

“And you came, Shadeslayer,” said Iorunn, in a light tone that gave no sense of urgency.

Wondering if he had been somehow duped or fallen for a political trick, he opened his mouth to protest, and then shut it again just as quickly, fearing he would offend her somehow.

Turning to Eragon’s guards, Iorunn requested that they wait outside with her own personal retinue so she and Eragon could talk privately.

“Do not fear,” said Iorunn, observing their hesitation, “I mean him no harm. And as you can see, I am unarmed.”

Eragon was confident that he would be more than a match for the dwarf, should it come to a fight, even if she were armed. Renowned warrior she may be, but few could hope to beat a Dragon Rider in open combat. Eragon nodded his head in assent.

As the guards exited, Iorunn added, “and make yourselves comfortable out there. We may be busy for a long while.”

More than the absence of guards, this made Eragon nervous. An extended period of time alone with any clan leader was a daunting prospect, and he had never felt at ease with the way Iorunn looked at him during clanmeets.

The heavy stone doors closed, and Iorunn slid a heavy bolt across the seam, locking the guards out. It would be easy enough for Eragon to unlock the door by magic or by hand, but there would be no way for the guards to enter if Eragon called for them. In fact, looking at the thickness of the doors, Eragon felt it would be unlikely they could hear any calls for help.

He tried to look unbothered, but this was not a situation he was remotely prepared for, and he still didn’t know what it was that Iorunn wanted from him, though he was sure there was something she wanted.

“Please sit,” said Iorunn, gesturing at one of the couches.

Eragon would have felt more comfortable at the table, but he didn’t want to quibble over such a trivial request, so he sat on the couch as directed. It was low to the ground, as befitted a dwarf couch, but it was deeper and softer than he expected. Surely a dwarf sitting here wouldn’t even be able to place his feet on the ground. It was almost a bed, to a dwarf, though dwarves tended to prefer beds of stone to cushioned things like this.

He sank into the unfamiliar furniture awkwardly, as the scabbard of his new dwarven sword poked into the back of the couch and made it impossible to sit comfortably.

“You won’t be needing that,” said Iorunn, gesturing to the sword.

Somewhat reluctantly, Eragon unbuckled the entire sword belt, sword, dagger and all, and set it beside him, still within reach, but not so close as to make him seem paranoid. He reminded himself that he was never without a weapon, as he could always rely upon his magic to get him out of trouble. He sat at the edge of the couch, trying not to sink back into the cushions that threatened to swallow him.

Iorunn approached him slowly, from the far side of the room, speaking as she went, "I am sure you are curious why I have called you here, Argetlam. Perhaps you are wondering why it is you and not Orik who I wished to meet tonight."

"I confess, I do not know your mind," said Eragon, hoping she would cut to the chase, though doubting it would be that simple.

"Don't you?" said Iorunn, "perhaps you do not, at that. Tomorrow, we shall elect a king…"

"Or a queen," said Eragon.

Iorunn smiled at that, "yes, or a queen. And in this decision, I am but one vote, and you have no say at all."

Eragon did not feel that this was delivered as an insult, but he could still make no sense of it.

"So, in inviting you here, I think it is obvious what I can do for you," continued Iorunn, "but perhaps there is also something you can do for me."

Iorunn was very close to Eragon now. She stood just in front of him, and Eragon had the novel experience of having to tilt his head up to look a dwarf in the eyes. There was such intensity in her stare, that Eragon felt a blush creeping up his neck, despite his efforts to stay composed.

"How can I be of service?", asked Eragon, trying to find somewhere appropriate to rest his eyes, and settling on her left shoulder.

Iorunn took another step forward. She was now standing between Eragon's legs, so close that Eragon could smell her faint perfume. She smelled of juniper and sandalwood and some unknown musk that captured his senses and made him almost dizzy. He felt himself go erect, as had so often happened when the beautiful dwarf teased him at the clanmeets with her looks and winks and subtle references.

Slowly and deliberately, Iorunn placed her hand on Eragon's cheek. Then, gently cupping his chin, she tilted his face up to meet her unrelenting stare.

Eragon began to panic. He had never been this close to a woman before, nor had he any reason to expect such a development now. He'd dreamed of such a moment with Arya, of course, and he'd made some feeble attempt with Trianna the last time he was in Tronjheim, though it had been interrupted by Saphira.

Saphira! He had just a moment to feel grateful that Saphira was not there to overhear his turbulent thoughts and feelings, before Iorunn leaned in, closing the narrow gap between them. Eragon closed his eyes in anticipation, but Iorunn hesitated, their lips just a hairsbreadth apart.

For just a moment, Eragon felt her warm breath on his lips, and then, throwing aside all thoughts of Saphira, or politics, or right and wrong, Eragon gave himself over to his instincts.

Their lips met in kiss, soft at first, then more insistent as Eragon reached up to pull her in closer. His fingers tangled themselves in her hair, as soft and thick as he had imagined it would be. His mind buzzed with an unfamiliar feeling as Iorunn's hands wandered from his shoulders to his chest, unlacing his shirt and resting themselves on the exposed skin there, which had never known a woman's touch. Were a warrior's hands meant to be this soft and warm?

Abruptly, Iorunn pushed Eragon back. For a moment he feared that he had done something wrong, but his fears were quickly put to rest as she climbed onto the couch, straddling him. Momentarily stunned into inaction, Iorunn had to take Eragon's hands and guide them to her waist. Eragon obeyed her unspoken command and pulled her hips down so she was fully seated on his lap. His erection pressed hard against - what? What was she wearing underneath this flimsy robe?

Almost in answer, Iorunn untied the sash that kept the ensemble together, and let it fall open. Eragon's vision was greeted by that beauty which Iorunn's gowns had always teased and promised. Round, heavy breasts, appearing all the larger for belonging to a dwarf. Milky white, with pert dark nipples that made Eragon's erection throb in anticipation. His eyes wandered downward past the soft curve of her stomach to the tuft of dark hair above that which he had only heard described by the crudest of men in the depths of their tankards back at the inn in Carvahall.

Iorunn gently tilted Eragon's chin up and whispered, "not yet."

Again guiding his hands, Iorunn placed Eragon' palms on the curve of her thighs, then left them to wander over the smoothness of her body as he saw fit. Sitting up to make herself taller than Eragon, she placed both hands on the back of his head and pulled him in to bury himself in the fullness of her breasts.

Eragon was not sure what she wanted, but he knew what he wanted. He cupped her heavy breasts and held his face between them, breathing deep the rich scent that had permeated his secret dreams for so long. Driven wild by her perfume, he longed to taste her. He kissed first one breast, then the other, then slowly drew his tongue between them, tasting the salt of the sweat on her skin. Iorunn gently pulled his head to one side, guiding his mouth towards her nipple.

Eragon obediently licked the sensitive skin around the nipple, and Iorunn pulled him closer. Eragon began to suck, and Iorunn finally let loose the moan of pleasure she'd been holding back. As he continued to suck, Eragon ran his hands up and down her back under the robe, feeling her arch into him. Finally he reached up to her shoulders and pushed back the fabric there. Iorunn shrugged out of the robe and pressed herself harder against Eragon, still fully clothed in contrast to her nakedness.

Iorunn tugged insistently at the bottom of Eragon's shirt, and he broke away long enough to pull it roughly over his head and toss it on top of the forgotten sword and dagger. Eragon suddenly felt self conscious and exposed. He was strong, but he had the lean strength of an elf, not the defined muscles of a man or dwarf, and he worried they would not impress. But Iorun's eyes glittered mischievously as she leaned back to take in the sight, and she looked nothing less than pleased. Her hair fell wild about her shoulders and her pouty lips slid into a smirk as she ran her hands over Eragon's now bare chest.

Unable to meet her fiery gaze, Eragon closed his eyes and just enjoyed the sensation of being touched. Before he knew it, he was being treated to the same attention he had just given Iorunn, only she was obviously much more practiced than him. She kissed his neck and pinched his nipples in a way that should have been painful but instead made Eragon melt. Her tongue found every sensitive spot Eragon didn't know he had, and instead of feeling embarrassed all he could do was moan in pleasure.

When she finally pulled away, Eragon almost begged her not to stop, but then he noticed that she was trying to undo the knotted strings of his pants and all other thoughts disappeared. He obligingly helped to loosen the pants, awkwardly trying to shimmy out of them while she was still on top of him. When that was done, he found himself seated on the couch, underneath the most beautiful dwarf-woman in Tronjheim, erect cock just inches from that mythic place he had not hoped to know until marriage.

Iorunn smiled knowingly, relishing Eragon's desire for her. But she would tease him just a bit longer. Stroking his cock with gentle fingers, making it twitch and harden further until Eragon couldn't stand it anymore.

Heart beating fast, blushing and panting, Eragon tried to pull her hips over his, but she resisted. "Please," Eragon begged, knowing she knew what he wanted, "Please…"

As if that's what she'd been waiting for, Iorunn ceased her teasing and lowered herself onto Eragon's waiting cock.

Fireworks went off in Eragon's brain and his whole body went hot and cold. Iorunn wasted no time, grinding deeply onto him, riding him hard and fast. After just a few moments of this, Eragon couldn't hold himself back. He grabbed Iorunn's hips and thrust upward to meet her, ejaculating deep inside her. Waves of pleasure coursed through him as he collapsed back onto the couch, eyes closed. Iorunn continued to ride his half-hard cock, sending aftershocks of pleasure through his whole body. Finally she lifted herself off of him, not seeming to care about the liquid dripping out of her onto the couch.

"Incredible," said Eragon, too high on this feeling to care if it was politically wise to do so, "You were incredible."

Iorunn cupped his cheek in her hand and gently kissed the Dragon Rider on his forehead. "Yes," she said, "I was. But we have not quite yet finished our negotiations, I believe."

Eragon's eyes opened to meet hers, and this time he did not look away. Already he could feel his erection returning. "I have quite a big favor to ask of you tomorrow, and we don't have much time left," said Eragon.

When did Legolas Greenleaf first come to love Gimli son of Gloin?

Perhaps it was when Gimli first came to love the Lady of the Wood.

For in that moment, Legolas saw something in Gimli’s eye that he had never perceived in the eyes of men or dwarves before. And indeed, it made him wonder that he had never really looked into the eyes of a dwarf.

“The sight of elves has grown weak indeed,” thought Legolas, “if they cannot see the depth and beauty of the eyes of Gimli Gloin’s son.”

Dwarves were a proud people. Proud of their creations above all else. Stone and gems and precious silver brought light to their eyes, but they little cared for living things, thought Legolas upon a time.

Not so, now. For Gimli valued the fairness and majesty of the Lady Galadriel above any jewel or stony hall crafted by his forefathers.

When Legolas later spoke to Gimli of the Lady, Gimli’s eyes shone again with wonder, awe, and love. But now his eyes were cast towards Legolas himself, and the elf was struck with a feeling he had not known in all his long years in the great Elvish Kingdom of his father.

From then on, Legolas and Gimli went often together in the land of Lothlorien. Legolas delighted in showing Gimli the wonders of the wood. Each time the dwarf lent compliment to the woodland realm, Legolas felt a thrill go through him. Long had Legolas yearned to see the golden wood, but now he found he preferred to watch the dwarfs enjoyment most of all. Did Legolas truly see the trees and flets of Lothlorien? Or did he only see the purest essence of them, reflected in the face of Gimli?

In the highest flets of the Mallorn trees, the platforms would sway gently in the breeze. Though dwarves are well accustomed to high places and precarious stairs, the stairs are always made of stone and do not sway and rock like a ship on the sea.

“Come just a little higher!” Legolas called merrily, from the ladder above Gimli’s head. “They say this is the best place to view the stars, and the sky is clear tonight!”

“I can see the stars well enough from here,” replied Gimli, holding tightly to the bole of the tree and eying the slender ladder warily, “there, between the branches. A beautiful sight.”

“Would you truly settle for such a narrow view after you have already climbed this high?” Asked Legolas, descending down to Gimli’s level.

“Come, I will carry you to the very top. You may close your eyes tightly lest your fear get the better of you.”

Legolas knelt down and indicated that the dwarf might climb onto his back, little believing that he would.

“Fear! I am not afraid,” blustered the dwarf, “we dwarves are simply not so enamored of stars as you elves.”

Legolas was not fooled by this claim, and merely smiled in response.

Gimli hesitated for a moment and then declared, “I will climb. But you will climb below me, so if this blasted wind shakes me loose it shall bring the both of us crashing down to the good solid earth.”

“You shall climb first,” agreed Legolas, “but if you fall, I shall catch you.”

Gimli harrumphed but began the ascent all the same. Once he was resolved to do it, he climbed quickly and assuredly, somewhat to Legolas’s disappointment. The Elf would have loved nothing more than to catch Gimli in his arms and carry him to safety.

The ladder brought them to the edge of a round platform perched upon the very crown of the tree, without a single branch above it. It was not the tallest tree in the city, but here at the very edge near the great green hedge, it stood a fair bit higher than its neighbors, affording a view that was not to be found in the center of the city where many ancient trees grew thick and tall.

Legolas, with all the balance and grace of the elder race, stood upon the platform as it tilted and turned, riding it like the deck of a ship upon a rolling sea. The movement to him felt comfortable and natural to him, accustomed as he was to climbing the great trees of his homeland and standing upon their boughs.

Gimli, however, was laying face down, with his arms and legs splayed wide to keep his balance.

Legolas laughed and said, “Come, Gimli, if you will not stand or sit then you must at least lay on your back so that you may see the stars!”

Slowly and carefully, so as to not fall off the narrow platform, Gimli rolled onto his back, his eyes shut tight with fear or concentration. After a breath to calm himself, and feeling about with his hands to make sure he was not at the platform’s edge, he finally opened his eyes and beheld the stars.

As Gimli took in the sight, his eyes widened and his breath caught. Here above the treetops, with neither mountain nor cloud in the periphery of his sight, he felt himself to be floating up there among the stars, swimming in them. Distant, they seemed, but no farther than the cares of the world down below.

“Well!” said Gimli, searching for words to describe this new feeling, “well that is a sight to see indeed!”

“It is,” said Legolas.

“Beautiful!” Murmured Gimli, entranced by the heavens.

“Beyond compare,” agreed Legolas, but he was not looking at the stars.

“Come lay beside me, Legolas. Sure-footed you may be, but I believe I’ve found the best position to watch the sky.”

Gladly did Legolas lay down beside Gimli, though his face was still turned towards the dwarf and not the sky at all. Fixated as Gimli was, he made no notice of the elf’s staring.

“What do you know of the stars?” asked Legolas.

“We have named but a few in my language,” said Gimli, “and those only for the purposes of navigation. Those, and the seven stars of Durin’s crown. But we look not to the sky for that constellation, wishing only to see it in the Mirrormere as Durin once did.”

“We have named many constellations in our language, and every young elf learns them by heart.”

“Show me,” said Gimli, and Legolas’s heart sang with joy.

Legolas pointed at a string of twinkling stars and said, “here are the seven stars the elves sing of. Valacirca, sickle of the Valar. Perhaps they are the same that Durin saw reflected in those waters, but elves do not claim knowledge of that lore.”

“Where?” Asked Gimli, “I see only a vast field of lights, forming no distinct shapes in my eyes.”

“There,” said Legolas, pointing a slender finger towards the sky, “see there the four stars of the handle, and three more to form the curved blade.”

“There?” asked Gimli, pointing at an unrelated clump of stars.

Legolas slid closer to Gimli on the platform, shoulder to shoulder, so he could better see the dwarf’s perspective. Legolas took Gimli’s hand and gently adjusted it’s direction.

“There,” said Legolas. “Valacirca. The handle, and…”

“The sickle!” exclaimed Gimli, “yes, I see it! So brightly it shines, I wonder how I’ve never noticed it before!”

Legolas entwined his fingers with Gimli and, hands clasped, continued to point out the constellations. There were many stars to name, and eventually Gimli ceased to make exclamations and grew quiet. 

Thinking his companion had fallen asleep, Legolas lowered their hands and lay there in silence for a while, simply drinking in the night sky.

After some time, Legolas turned his head to look at Gimli, and found he was not asleep at all. His breath was so slow and regular that Legolas had not imagined he could still be awake, but his eyes were wide open, staring contentedly up at the stars. Knowing the dwarf was awake, Legolas became aware that he had not yet let go of Gimli’s hand, and that he did not particularly want to.

Sensing the stare, Gimli turned his head towards Legolas as well, a smile cracking through his previous serenity.

“I think I understand the elves a little better now,” said Gimli, “though I suspect I’ll have forgotten all the names you told me come morning.”

“Then I will tell you again. Each one has a story, and it would take many lifetimes of men to tell them all.”

“And I will listen to them gladly, if we ever land again in such a peaceful place.”

Those words shook the magic of the moment a little, for at once they both remembered that they were in the midst of an urgent quest, and this swaying treetop under the stars was but an island in a sea of dangers.

“The company will be looking for me soon,” said Gimli. “I thought I might fall asleep here, but I am determined to die in battle or as an old graybeard, not as a youngling falling out of a tree because he was too foolish to seek a proper bed.”

“I would not let you fall,” said Legolas, “and I had a mind to rest here myself. The sunrise will be worth the wait.”

“Let it not be said that Gimli Gloinsson is afraid of heights,” said Gimli, “but I daren’t rest my eyes till I am back on solid ground. I am neither bird nor elf, and not designed for sleeping in trees.

“Very well,” said Legolas with a laugh in his voice, “we shall return to the company and leave this bird’s nest to the birds.”

“Good. That’s good,” said Gimli, turning his face back to the sky, “but my eyes are not yet tired, and I shan’t roll off while I’m awake. Will you stay here with me a bit longer?”

“Yes,” said Legolas, “gladly I will stay with you.”

"Pregnant?" repeated Dudley Dursley, for the third time. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Dud, I'm positive," she said. "I went to the Doctor and everything."

"Right…" said Dudley thoughtfully, "That's great! It is great, isn't it?"

Dudley furrowed his brows and tried to figure out whether his girlfriend was happy or not, and also whether he was happy or not. They'd been dating for nearly 2 years, of course, and they did live together, but Dudley had always imagined that his wedding would come before his first child. His mum would be scandalized when she found out, and his students would have a field day with it. The other half of being a PE teacher was being a Health teacher, and he was clearly not following the abstinence-only model he taught.

His girlfriend looked at least as nervous as he felt, and he wished that he could identify the source of her anxiety, but he had never been particularly good at reading people.

“Do you…” began Dudley carefully, “Do you not want it?”

“No, I do!” she said quickly. “That’s not it. I mean, I was just getting used to the new job, but that can wait, right? And you’re making enough now…”

A teacher’s salary wasn’t much, but it would be enough. His house and car were more modest than what he’d grown up with, but at least they were his. He’d moved out here before his senior year of high school, when the magic people had set it up as a safe house while his cousin was on the run from some dark wizard. His parents had moved back to privet drive as soon as they got the all clear, but Dudley had come to love the quaint country life.

He tried not to think about the likely illegal methods that the wizards employed to obtain the house, and just enjoyed the fact that he was the sole owner, without even a mortgage to worry about. This would be a good place to raise a child. The house was small and definitely in need of some repairs , but there was a big yard and a nice sturdy tree that was just begging for the chance to become a treehouse.

“We’ll manage,” said Dudley, still a little uncertain. His girlfriend wasn’t smiling, and his own attempts at cheeriness kept faltering.

“I know I haven’t exactly proposed yet,” said Dudley, “but we’ve talked about it, right? I mean… I do want to be with you forever. I love you, Cho. I can’t imagine a future without you.”

This was her cue to say, “I love you too, let’s get married and raise a baby together,” but she didn’t seem quite ready for that yet. She just stared vaguely out the window and chewed on her lower lip. It was a nervous habit of hers, whenever she was thinking deep thoughts. She usually didn’t like to be interrupted, but Dudley couldn’t stand waiting.

“What are you thinking?” Asked Dudley. “Talk to me. We can work it out together, Cho, like we always do…”

She sighed deeply but turned her gaze back to him. “There’s just so much you don’t know about me, Dud. I have all these secrets you couldn’t even imagine…”

Dudley couldn’t help thinking of his cousin then. This year’s Christmas card from Harry had announced the birth of his second child, who was sure to be as magically inclined as the rest of their lot. That was a pretty big secret to keep. “We all have secrets,” said Dudley. “If it’s really important, you’ll tell me. If not… well I can’t know everything about you anyway.”

“It is important,” insisted Cho, “but I wouldn’t know where to begin. You haven’t even met my parents yet! You haven’t seen the sort of place I grew up in.”

That was true. Dudley had introduced Cho to his parents early on, even knowing they wouldn’t approve. But Cho never even talked about her family or her childhood, unless she was very very drunk.

“So you can introduce me,” said Dudley, “that’s not a big deal, is it?”

“That’s just the tip of the iceberg, Dud,” said Cho with a touch of exasperation. “My parents are weirder than I can even begin to describe. And as for why I suddenly cut them off and moved out here to the middle of nowhere… I mean, you’ve never even asked about it. And with my family history… I don’t think you’re prepared for this baby, Dudley. I really don’t.”

Dudley was a little confused about these pronouncements, but he latched onto the important bit. “What family history?” Said Dudley. “Do you have some sort of genetic disease? Family in the Looney Bin? Because that sort of thing won’t stop me from loving this baby and taking care of it as best as I can.”

Dudley knew how to learn from his parents mistakes. It had taken him years of therapy to come to terms with the fact that Harry was abused by his parents for being a wizard. It was their job to take care of him, even if they never asked for it, and they had failed miserably at their task. Just because he was a little difficult, and different from what they’d expected. They’d ruthlessly suppressed his powers and forced him to deny his nature, but they couldn’t beat it out of him. Dudley decided years ago that if he ever had a child with autism or a disability or some abnormal sexuality, he wouldn’t let that turn him into his father. He’d accept it, without question, because that’s what a parent was supposed to do.

Dudley had never really been able to make amends for his own role in Harry’s troubled childhood. They sent each other Christmas cards, even though Dudley’s parents disapproved. But Harry had never offered to let Dudley meet the rest of his family. Dudley knew Ginny and the children only as photographs, tucked neatly away in the top drawer of his nightstand. Maybe someday he’d be able to bridge that gap, but he wasn’t sure he’d earned that privilege yet.

As he was questioning Cho about her family history, he remembered something that Mr. Diggle had said, a long time ago. Mr. Diggle was the little wizard who had set up the safe house and guarded the Dursleys intermittently during their year-long banishment. He’d mentioned that muggleborn witches like Dudley’s aunt Lily usually had some magical blood in them, way back. Oftentimes a magic-less child of magic parents would integrate themselves in the normal world, only to have the magic gene pop up again generations later. He’d said that Dudley likely carried that dormant gene too.

“It’s not a genetic disease,” answered Cho. “It’s… oh I don’t know how to describe it. But it will affect all of our lives.”

“I have something to tell you too,” said Dudley, making a split decision. He didn’t want to spend his life pretending that his cousin was some sort of deranged delinquent, as his parents still told the neighbors. If he was going to be with Cho, she needed to know the truth.

“I have my own… family history,” said Dudley carefully. “There’s a small chance it would actually affect our baby… but you should know, just in case. I had this aunt who… well she died before I met her, but she had this special, er, peculiarity. And my cousin, who was pretty much raised as my brother, had it too.”

Cho was obviously surprised by this. She had expected to be the only one with big dark secrets to divulge. Dudley exuded this extraordinarily normal energy. He had a perfect suburban upbringing, a fondness for watching football at the local pub, and a perfectly mundane job as a middle school PE teacher. Cho was always a bit more mysterious, with stunning good looks that should have put her way out of Dudley’s league, a cool confidence, and an aversion to speaking about her childhood. They were a strange match, but they balanced each other.

“What sort of peculiarity?” Asked Cho.

“Right…” said Dudley, trying to think of the best way to frame this. “This is going to sound really strange and totally made up, but I swear I’m being serious, so please don’t laugh. My cousin… is a wizard. And if I’m anything like my grandparents, there’s a chance my child could be too.”

Cho didn’t laugh but her jaw did drop. “You’re messing with me,” Said Cho. “Your cousin can’t be a wizard.”

“I know it sounds crazy,” said Dudley, “but I swear, Magic is real. I didn’t believe it at first either, but the evidence is hard to ignore…” he resisted the urge to feel for the scar on his backside where the pig tail had been removed.

Cho shook her head and covered her face with her hands. Dudley couldn’t quite tell if she was laughing or crying, but either way he didn’t know what to say. There wasn’t any manual on telling your girlfriend about your magical cousin.

“He can’t be a wizard,” Said Cho. “You’re such a muggle.”

That rang a bell for Dudley. Isn’t that what Harry had called him and his parents? “How do you know that word?” Asked Dudley.

“How do I know that word?” Asked Cho, uncovering her face. He could see now that she had been laughing, not crying. “I can’t believe I was so worried about telling you about magic, and you already know! I’m a witch, Dudley.”

It was Dudley’s turn for his jaw to drop. “You’re a witch? Then when you were talking about family history… you meant magic?”

Cho nodded.

“If you’re a witch… then the baby…”

“Is definitely a witch - or wizard, I suppose.”

“Oh…” said Dudley, “my parents are going to kill me.”

“Your parents know about magic too? But they’re the biggest muggles I ever met! I would have never guessed.”

“Yeah, well they hate magic so that’s not really good news. Remember how I said we treated my cousin like shit growing up? That was all because he was a wizard.”

“But you don’t think that way anymore, right? I mean, you don't talk about him much, but you seemed to, I don't know, feel bad about how you acted as a kid?"

"I do," said Dudley quickly. "I do, but I don't think my parents do.”

“That’s fine. I’m marrying you, not your parents. As long as you’re fine with it -“

“Then you’re saying yes? You’ll marry me?”

Then Cho really was crying. She wrapped her arms around Dudley’s thick neck and kissed him deeply. “Yes, yes, I’m saying yes!”

There was a good deal more laughing and kissing and crying before they settled down enough to continue their conversation, but Dudley still had a thousand questions that needed answering, and expected that Cho had more than a few herself.

“So, if you’re a witch,” Dudley began, “what are you doing coaching field hockey in a little town like this? And how come I’ve never seen you do any magic?”

“I like it here,” said Cho, “it’s peaceful. After the war, I just had to get away… oh god, you do know about the war, don’t you? Muggles weren’t supposed to know about it, but if your cousin told you -“

“I know,” said Dudley, “not everything, but I know enough. All that rubbish about the evil wizard who came back from the dead. Voldy-thing or whatever.”

Cho flinched from the name but then laughed weakly, “No I see you don’t know everything. But you know there was a war.” She grew serious and said, “it was horrible, Dud. So much fear and danger. Never knowing who was on which side. And so many people died. My friends, my boyfriend… and the things I did too. In the Battle of Hogwarts, at the very end… it was life or death, Dud. Kill or be killed.”

“I’m sorry,” said Dudley, “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“I sort of lost my taste for magic after that,” said Cho quietly, “every time I picked up my wand I would see the faces of the Death Eaters I’d duelled. Some of them were wearing masks, but not all… I didn’t want to keep thinking about it. So I moved out here and locked my wand away and decided to live as a muggle for a while. It wasn’t supposed to be forever, just a little break to get myself together… but then I met you. And I joined all these muggle sports leagues, and made lots of muggle friends, and I got used to spending my Friday nights in muggle pubs… so I just never went back to the wizarding world.”

“Do you miss it? Magic? That whole world?”

“I still talk to some of my school friends, and my parents, so it’s not like I’ve totally disappeared… but yes, sometimes. Sometimes I miss magic.”

“I think I was jealous of my cousin. Mostly I was afraid of his power, because my parents taught me to fear it, but I was also jealous that he could do things that I could only dream of. I think my mum was jealous too. Magic sounds so wonderful. I’m sorry that the war ruined the wonder of it for you.”

“Me too, Dud, me too…”

“But what about our kid? Our baby? Won’t he want to be a part of all that?”

“Maybe it’s time I got my wand out again.”

Dudley’s eyes widened, “Can you show me? Real magic?”

“Your cousin didn’t show you? No, wait, of course he couldn’t, he was still underage when you moved out here without him, wasn’t he?”

“He did some accidental magic. My parents said it was on purpose, but my cousin said he couldn’t help it. Oh no - is our kid going to do that too?” Dudley had a sudden vision of his now quite elderly Aunt Marge blowing up like a great balloon. He didn’t think she’d survive the ordeal at her age.

“One of the challenges of raising a magical child, yes… they can’t control it when they’re young. My mum had to put a padlock on the cookie jar.”

“That’s not so bad,” said Dudley, “not nearly as bad as accidentally setting a giant snake loose at the zoo.” Dudley placed a big hand on Cho’s still-flat stomach and said, “we can handle it. We’ll figure it out together. I may not know much about this magic stuff, but I trust that you do.”

“You already know so much more than I expected,” Cho laughed, “this is not at all how I thought this conversation would go. You’re such a muggle, but you seem so unfazed by all this. Your cousin must have been a terror.”

“When he started talking to that snake, I nearly lost it. I don’t know what our kid could do to top that.”

Cho furrowed her brow and asked, “your cousin could talk to snakes?”

“Is that not normal for wizards? I mean, using the word normal for wizards at all seems strange to me, but since you’re a witch-“

“What was your cousin’s name again?” Cho interrupted, “I’m sure you’ve told me before, but I can’t seem to remember it just now…”

“Understandable,” said Dudley, “it’s a pretty forgettable name. Very common. His name is Harry.”

Cho’s eyes widened and she echoed, “Harry?”

“That’s right. Hang on, do you know him?” Asked Dudley. “I mean it would make sense if you knew him if you both went to that Wizard School. He’s only a year younger than us.”

“Dudley Dursley, are you telling me that your cousin is Harry Potter?”

“So you do know him! I thought you might.”

“Dudley, everyone knows him. Every wizard all over the world knows Harry Potter. He’s famous.”

Dudley had a hard time wrapping his head around this. Weren’t famous people supposed to be attractive? His scrawny bespectacled cousin didn’t look like much of a celebrity to him.

“I thought you knew something about the war!” Cho exclaimed.

“What do you mean?”

Cho explained. She told Dudley about the legend of the boy who lived, who was famous from the day he arrived on the Dursley’s doorstep. The child who overcame the dark lord again and again. The triwizard champion. The rebellious leader of an underground student army. The hero of the wizarding world who finally brought about the downfall of the worst wizard to ever live. The heroic auror keeping the wizarding world safe even now.

Dudley had known that this self titled lord Voldemort had wanted his cousin dead, but it had never quite sunk in that Harry was the keystone of the whole conflict. He had never thought of Harry as important. The guilt he felt for how he treated Harry doubled in an instant. No wonder Harry couldn’t forgive him yet.

All of that surprise was dwarfed, however, by Cho’s next revelation.

“You what?” Demanded Dudley.

“I dated him,” said Cho, “just for a little while. He wasn’t a very good boyfriend.”

Dudley sputtered incoherently. Hot waves of jealousy battered against stubborn walls of denial in his brain as he struggled to place Cho anywhere near Harry in a mental image.

“If you can’t believe it, imagine how I feel!” said Cho, “I uprooted my whole life to move to this little muggle village and get away from the memories of the wizarding war, and yet somehow the cousin of the wizard who was the center of the whole thing became my fiancé!”

And just like that all the jealousy boiled off and Dudley was grinning again. “Fiancé…” he echoed, enjoying the feel of the word in his mouth.

Seeing his smile, Cho’s dismay melted away. “Fiancé… we’ll be ok, won’t we, Dud?”

“We’ll be great,” replied Dudley, holding her hand. “We’ll figure it out together. The three of us.”

“I think it’s time I introduce you to my parents.”

“Past time,” said Dudley, “but I’ll take it. We’re going to need some help planning the wedding. And one more thing.”

“Hm?”

“It’s time I made things right with Harry too. We’re going to be a family.”

“A family,” Cho agreed, resting her head on Dudley’s broad, safe shoulder.

———

Trying a different tactic, he thought, "If you put me in Slytherin my life will be ruined. Uncle Ron would never talk to me again. And my brother…"

"Your desire to be a Gryffindor is entirely motivated by fear."

The irony of that was not lost on Albus. It would take a lot of bravery to be in any house other than Gryffindor, with his family history. But if he had that sort of bravery, the hat wouldn't have hesitated. He didn't have the courage to sit down amongst the Slytherins on the far side of the hall, as far away from James as he could possibly be. If he did have that sort of courage, he'd be sitting with the Gryffindors. He was stuck.

As a last ditch effort, he thought, "Hufflepuff is fine. Nothing wrong with a Hufflepuff! I could be loyal. Just… not Slytherin."

"Yes, you have the potential to show great loyalty. Your devotion to your family shows this. But more than loyalty, you wish to fit in, to be accepted by your family, which is a trait of self-preservation, a Slytherin trait."

Albus knew that his reasons for choosing Gryffindor or Hufflepuff were entirely selfish. But what choice did he have? They were his family. His dad had said they would love and accept him whatever house he was in, but James had made no such promise. He'd been teasing Albus about it all summer. And besides, hadn't his dad taught him this hat negotiation trick as a way of getting into Gryffindor regardless? Didn't that mean he wanted Albus to choose Gryffindor, like he had?

"You cannot force your family to accept you," said the hat, "but you can join a noble House whose members will appreciate you as you are, unaltered."

Albus's thoughts drifted unintentionally to the boy he'd met on the train, who'd been sorted into Slytherin just a few minutes earlier. He'd gotten on better with him than any of his siblings or cousins, and he was a Slytherin. He wouldn't judge Albus for his ambition, or cunning, or small lingering desire to set the sorting hat on fire.

In that moment of weakened resolve, Albus heard the hat announce to the room in a booming voice, "SLYTHERIN!"

The hat was lifted from his head as confused whispers emanated from the crowd. Albus wondered just how long he'd been arguing with the hat.

For a moment teetered on the edge of following through with his plan. If he walked confidently towards the Gryffindor table, who would stop him? And wouldn't that very act of bravery justify his inclusion in the house of the lion-hearted?

But the Slytherin table recovered from the shock, and were cheering for him. And the blond boy from the train was waving at him enthusiastically.

Shakily, still a little dazed, he managed to make his way to the Slytherin table and seat himself on the bench beside Scorpius Malfoy.

"Welcome to Slytherin!" said one of the older students, slapping him on the back.

Albus smiled nervously in response, then turned his attention to the next student to be sorted. When they were placed in Gryffindor, Albus's eyes drifted naturally towards James. Perhaps sensing this glance, James removed his attention from the new recruit to bestow upon Albus a know-it-all smirk, complete with raised eyebrows and whispers to his neighboring Gryffindors.

Albus gulped and looked away, as his stomach tied in knots. I tried, he wanted to tell James, I really tried to be in Gryffindor. But James was on the other side of the hall, and couldn't hear Albus's thoughts the way the hat could. James had known that Albus would be a Slytherin, and Albus knew what James thought of Slytherins. Albus wanted to explain himself somehow, but the space between his table and his brother's seemed too big a gap to breach. Surrounded by his new housemates, he felt utterly alone.

This feeling didn’t dissipate during the welcome feast, which seemed to last a thousand years. Scorpius tried to talk to him, but Albus could barely manage to swallow his food, let alone sustain a conversation. He was putting every ounce of his energy into not crying at the table in front of everyone.