No one was more surprised than Dudley Dursely when he found himself at the altar with a woman he actually loved. He remembered his father's old adages as he stared dazedly at the dark-haired, plump Colette, her features distorted by the white mesh now shielding her face: "Dudley, boy--you'll be wanting a woman who can whip up a proper meal and serve you, your bosses, and your clients like royalty."

"She should have a decent look about her, nothing abnormally attractive or people around you will talk."

"Remember what's important: that she tends house like she gets paid for it."

But long has it been since he'd followed his father's advice to the letter. Since Dedalus Diggle gave him and his parents the clearance to come out of hiding after that psychotic with a wand had finally met his maker, Dudley very much began to follow his own path. He never returned to Smeltings, for one. His father nearly broke his shoulder with the force of his blow following that news. His mother wept in exaggerated sobs as she cried out to the heavens "Why!!"

Dudley was never one for learning. Thick-sculled, it took several turns for anything to penetrate its recesses. While advantageous when a good punch was being aimed at it, he felt his head was good for little else. Through his boxing coach at school, he got into contact with a trainer, and he found himself boxing on the amateur circuit for almost reasonable pay. With it, he was able to uproot from his beginnings in Little Whinging, and move to London, where the majority of his matches were fought. It was after a particularly ugly loss that he'd met her in the sweat-and-blood-stenched venue. The regulars, his "fans," were chucking beer bottles at him, cursing him for being the wrong man to bet on.

"Ya daft pig, you just lost me fifty quid!" a rail-thin man offset by the unusual characteristic of a bloated ponch stepped out from the harrassers and thrust up the end of a jagged bottle into the air. The female bartender, just behind her bar moments ago, now ducked into the crowd and kneed Dudley's attacker squarely in the groin.

"There'll be no murder'n in this here establishment! Get on with ya!" The man was dragged through the bodies by some very brawny customers.

"We've got him, Colette!"

"Thank you, Rolf, thank you!"

She turned on her heal, looking brightly at the bruised and swollen visage of Dudley.

"Say ugly, how's about I give you a drink on the house?"

"No, miss. Don't want ta put ye out . . ." Dudley reddened as he backed away from the pretty little woman.

"Listen. You can buy me one some other time. Fair?"

And so, with all the affection he had on that first night in the disgusting ring, he pronounced the words with husky clarity.

"I do."

"And do you, Colette, take Dudley to be your lawfully-wedded husband?" said the stout preacher with a floppy comb-over.

"As long as he stays out of the ring, I do."

And Dudley, so consumed by the shining face of his beloved Colette, hardly saw the lanky black-haired man be the first to stand and lead the hesitant procession into a standing ovation. Dudley's mother remained seated, shooting a sour-look over her shoulder at the man and muttered, "This is the worst mistake of Diddykin's life. No wonder Harry's causing a scene. Probably enjoying every second of our humiliation!!" His father sat beside her, patting her boney arm in comfort. "Nothing doing now. The world's gone to hell."

Oblivious to all of this, he bent low and kissed the soft lips of his new bride.