"Daddy! It's my birthday, Daddy!"

"Yes, poppet," the lumbering figure of Dudley Dursley pats his little girl, though not so little anymore, on the head and sends her into the kitchen. He can hear Anita, his wife of twelve years, coo over Daisy's birthday dress and asks if she wants to celebrate at the zoo today?

Dudley winces, remembering his own eleventh birthday at the zoo. Nearly eaten by a snake thanks to Cousin Harry's…oddity.

It wasn't often that Dudley Dursley thought of his cousin. They had grown up together, it was true, but for all that they may as well have been strangers. The house at Privet Drive had burned to the ground shortly after the strangers in odd clothes had sent the Dursleys away. Drummings had offered Vernon a job in Glasgow shortly thereafter and off they'd moved to Scotland.

Harry hadn't reached out beyond a wedding card and a sympathy card when Vernon had passed. Dudley didn't think Harry actually cared that Vernon Dursley had died of a heart attack, but he had appreciated the sentiment.

Dudley had married Anita and moved back to Little Whinging, putting the stranger parts of his family past behind him. It wasn't until Daisy was a toddler that he really thought about Harry's childhood. She was a mischievous little one, always getting climbing higher than any toddler should be capable of, giving Anita and Dudley daily panic attacks. But it wasn't until she had started screaming true, frightened screeches, that Dudley had remembered. Daisy had gotten locked into the cupboard under the stairs at Number Eleven Lilac Drive that Dudley recalled the panicked cries of Harry when he'd first been put under the stairs and found a spider on his pillow.

"Da-da-da-da-da!" Daisy had sobbed.

"I've got you, poppet. It's okay," he said, bouncing her against his chest, his own heart still racing.

"Scawy," she cried.

"I know, poppet," he had said, his heart suddenly breaking for another child who was the same age the first time they were locked inside the scary cupboard.

That was the day Dudley had acknowledged that Harry Potter had a perfectly valid reason to never speak to a Dursley again, ignoring the fact that his parents had no desire to see him, or "his kind" again.

So, when Harry Potter popped into his mind on his daughter's eleventh birthday, Dudley shook it off and instead went to see how big Daisy's eyes would get over her presents.

~D~D~D~D~D~D~

His ears were ringing, but his smile was wide. Daisy was going on about the elephants and tigers and her favorite: the Snowy Owl while Poppy, their youngest, nodded along.

"Wasn't it the prettiest birdy ever, Daddy?"

"Absolutely, poppet," he said fondly.

"Can I get one as a pet?"

"Absolutely not," Anita said with a laugh. "People don't just own owls!"

"My cousin did," Dudley said, absentmindedly.

The abrupt silence made him realize his mistake.

As far as his family knew, he had no family beside his mother. His father and Aunt Marge had died quite close to each other, and Harry didn't come to call. His parents had never taken any photos of Harry so it was quite possible to pretend that Dudley had grown up alone on Privet Drive.

"I didn't know you had a cousin, Daddy! What's his name?"

Poppy looked up with the soulful blue eyes, deeper than her grandfather's had been.

"Harry," he said softly. "Harry Potter."

A knock sliced through the silence of the house as his wife and children came to terms with the revelation that he had another family member.

"I'll get it!" trilled Daisy, making a bee-line for the door. Anita followed, but the usual chatter that accompanied an open door was absent. Dudley made his way to the front and saw the problem immediately.

There was a stern looking woman with spectacles perched delicately on her nose standing on the doorstep. It was not her visage that had shocked his family into silence, however. No, they were struck dumb by her manner of dress. She wore a long emerald cloak with a tartan scarf and a strange pointy hat adorned with a pheasant feather.

"My name is Minerva McGonagall," she said in a crisp Scots accent. "And I am the Headmistress of-"

"Hogwarts." Dudley said, dumbfounded.

"Aye," she said with a twinkle in her gaze.

~D~D~D~D~D~D~

Professor McGonagall sat upon the wingback armchair and told Dudley and Anita that Daisy was special. Magical. Anita would have laughed except that her husband looked deadly serious, if mildly terrified.

"It's safe then?" he blurted. "Your world? It's safe now, I take it."

"It is," Professor McGonagall said.

"Why are you not panicking?" Anita asked, her voice slightly shrill. "This woman comes into our home and says our Daisy can do magic and is a witch, and you're sitting there like this woman is suggesting she study Algebra instead of spells?!"

"It's, ah, my cousin."

"The mystery cousin who owned an owl?"

Professor McGonagall snorted delicately.

"Ah, yeah. That's the one."

"That.. Henry Plotter?"

"Harry Potter," the Headmistress corrected.

Anita and Dudley both turn to look at her.

"Do you know Harry, then?" asked Dudley.

"I do," she said.

"D'you know where he lives?"

The sturdy Scotswoman let just a hint of surprise register on her face before her unflappable mask slipped back on.

"I do. He'd likely not mind the visit, if you're interested. Especially considering-" she looked over at Daisy who was pouring over her letter as through it held the answers to life.

"Is it nearby?"