It was the shaking that woke him up.

Blearily opening his eyes, Harry Potter looked around, surprised at first, then recognizing after a few moments where he was: his bedroom at Privet Drive.  It had been a week since he had returned home from Hogwarts, licking his wounds yet again, just like every term previous.  He was used to it; it was the order of things.  This time, however, he felt defeated.  Numb.  Dead to the world, fractured, lost.  Just a few short days ago, he had witnessed murder, again.  Been in a life threatening situation, again.  Been saved by luck - among other things - again.

It certainly didn't help that the murder he witnessed was his Godfather's.  Harry supposed that by this point, he should be used to it.  He had certainly seen enough, been through enough to realize the dangers of war, of this war.  No one was safe any longer, least of all those he counted as friends.  He shook again.

Harry was sick of it, not just the death, or the endless battles he was apparently fated to be a part of, but life, period.  He was sick of his role in everything, sick of being the hero.  He certainly didn't feel heroic. And why should I?  He thought to himself.  Everything I've done, I've had massive, cosmic-sized help. I shouldn't even be alive.  That was true.  Even more than his own lack of being prepared, he resented the fact that he seemed to be someone's - God's, fate's, magic's, whoever - pawn.  Harry shook again.

Though it probably didn't occur to him, his problems were commonplace.  Sure, maybe they were a bit more macabre than most teenagers have to deal with, but who doesn't grow up feeling out of place?  That no one could understand their problems but themselves?  Were he not too grief-stricken to realize this himself, Harry might have found a grimly humorous irony in the fact that perhaps he wasn't as different from everyone else than he had always thought.

Harry's teen aged afflictions of self-pity and angst were forgivable, though, especially considered he had rather more to deal with than uni applications and young romance.  He actually did have the weight of the world on his shoulders, as he had recently learned.  Finally learned, he growled to himself, thinking about how much had been concealed from him in an attempt to let him enjoy his childhood.  Yeah, someone trying to murder me every year is a fucking treat.  'He's meant to have a happy childhood, well why don't we shove him off onto people who hate magic and would rejoice in making his life hell?'.  A perfect plan, that. Fuck you, Albus Dumbledore.  I bet you bugger sheep just like your brother.  Beastialimagi.

As he found himself shaking for the fourth time, it finally occurred to Harry's barely awake mind that it wasn't of his own doing.  He certainly wasn't causing the dull thudding that could be heard once he listened more closely.  Nor the feminine moaning.

Shuddering this time completely of his own volition, Harry hummed desperately to get the sounds of his hated aunt and uncle fornicating one another out of his mind.  Plus, Harry hoped against hope, they had never done that beyond the one time that produced Dudley, giving it up as afterwards a lost cause.  They certainly showed no affection to one another.  Harry would have felt sorry for them both, were they not complete bastards.  But...that wasn't right, their bedroom was across the hall.  They certainly couldn't be making his bed shake from all the way over there.  Harry considered all this uncomprehendingly until...Dudley?

Mouth hanging half-slack in horror, Harry could barely believe it.  Fat, boorish Dudley had found someone damaged enough to (Harry hoped) willingly share his bed?  Mama's-boy Dudley was having sex in his parents house, at - Harry checked the clock - two in the morning?

Inexplicable as it may have seemed to Harry at the time, it was indeed what was happening.  If he listened even harder (like slowing down to view an auto accident, he found himself unable to not do so), he could hear Dudley's guttural grunts.  He sounded just like he did when Harry had heard him working out, or sparring with someone in his personal gym in the Dursley's basement.  Gods, who could she be?

A pigfucker.  The thought came unbidden to Harry's mind, but once it had, he couldn't stop laughing.

********************************************

Two hours later, Harry woke again.  His sleep had been sporadic and difficult since Sirius...well, since.  The creaking of a door and sounds of shuffling feet made him realize what exactly had woken him.  He could hear two sets of footsteps walk past his door to the staircase, then stop.  Morbid curiosity getting the better of him, he crept to his door and opened it a crack.

A small air freshener with a nightlight attached in the outlet near the bathroom were all that illuminated the hallway.  At the top of the steps, there was his blimp-like cousin, clutching a small girl whose head laid on his chest.

"Do you want me to walk you home, then?" Dudley whispered, after a lingering kiss on the girls neck.  She stepped back; Harry felt his breath catch.  She was...well, she was beautiful.  She was short, her head barely reaching Dudley's shoulders.  Long, honey blond hair cascaded down her back; as she shifted, Harry could see the tips were dyed pink.  She looked like a pixie wrapped in Dudley's beefy arms.

"That's fine, it's not a long walk."  She spoke with a clear Scottish burr, Harry would guess from around Glasgow.  "I'll call you tomorrow, aye?  We can --" She cut herself off and gasped as her eyes locked with Harry's.

"Shit..." Harry mumbled under his breath, and shut his door quickly.  He could hear mutterings from out in the hall; then, one set of steps down the stairs and one straight to his door.  He backed up quickly, moments before it swung open.

"What the fuck was that about, Potter?  You a perve, or something?"  Dudley growled straight into Harry's face as his hands grabbed the smaller boy by the collar.

"No, I --"

"Fancy sniffing her panties, eh?  Go on then, they're on my floor."

"Dudley, really, I just --"

"You don't even think about going near her.  I'll not be having you fuck this up for me."

"DUDLEY!"  Both boys winced, realizing how loud they were speaking, both desperately hoping to avoid waking the elder Dursleys up.  Harry continued in a soft tone.  "Dudley, I'm sorry, really.  I've had trouble sleeping lately.  You just woke me up, is all."  Dudley relaxed slightly, releasing his grip on his cousin.

"You... you didn't listen in, then?"

"Well, not intentionally.  She's a bit of a screamer, that one."  For a moment, Harry thought his cousin was going to punch him in the jaw, before a slight smirk crossed his face.

"She is, isn't she?"

Harry sat heavily on his bed.  "How long has that been going on?"

"Since the winter hols.  Her family just moved to Little Faverton, she goes to Stonewall."

"She's pretty.  What's her name?"

"She's gorgeous," Dudley corrected.  "Roxanne Harding.  I still don't believe she's ... dating me."

Harry sat silent, trying to figure out what he could possibly add to this bizarre conversation about his cousin's sex life.

"You'll not tell mum and dad, will you?"

"Would they even believe their perfect baby boy would do such a thing?  Hearing it from me, no less?"

"I suppose not.  Still, not a word, eh?"

Harry shook his head.  Dudley stared at him hard for a moment, as if trying to find a lie on his cousin's face.  He nodded and padded out the door, closing it behind him.

What the fuck? was Harry's only thought, as he lay back down, hoping against hope that he didn't dream about Dudley having it off with his girlfriend.

********************************************

Harry rose the next day to the sound of tapping against his bedroom window.  He opened it quickly to admit his own familiar, Hedwig, and a small spotted owl he didn't recognize.  Both owls offered him their letters before flying off in tandem out the window.

"Hello to you too, Hedwig..." Harry rubbed his temples and sat at his dilapidated desk, setting the two letters in front of him.  He grabbed the first, the one Hedwig had delivered, and tore it open.

Dear Harry,

Thanks for writing.  I'm rather surprised you wrote me, rather than Ron or Hermione.  Sorry if that's a bit forward, but Gran and I have moved into -- well I just found I can't write it, so let's call it the birds nest.  Dumbledore figured it was best, and that the D.E.s might be looking for a spot of revenge after the incident at the end of term, so we all (Luna and her father, too) are here.  Anyway, it was a right surprise when Hedwig flew straight to me!

Harry, mate, you don't have to apologize.  I'd follow you anywhere, and as I recall we had to convince you to let us come along, not the other way around.  This, none of it, is your fault.  The only thing I'm sorry about for that night is that Bellatrix left alive.  And, of course, what happened to your Godfather.

That's another thing, Harry.  Please don't be blaming yourself for what happened to Sirius, either.  I may not be your best mate, but I know you well enough to suss that's what you're doing.  Voldemort (are you proud of me?  I've been practicing saying -- well, writing in this case -- his name) is to blame for all of it, and from what everyone here has been telling me, that's the way Sirius would have wanted to go out.  Fighting.  Protecting you.  If I have to give my life to this war in the future... well, I would.  In a heartbeat.

Forgive me for talking about it, as I think you'd much rather not, but it had to be said.  It's not your fault!

Now, with that out of the way, how's everything?  I overheard Tonks and Moody and everyone laughing about telling off your relatives, to make sure they'd do right by you.  I thought it was a joke until Ginny told me how they've treated you in the past.  Say the word, mate, and I'll come get you out of there myself, Dumbledore be damned.

No one here's said anything about how soon you can leave, as least that I've heard.  Sorry... if I can corner Professor Dumbledore I'll ask for you.  Now, I've got a few messages to pass along.  Professor Lupin said to say: "Mssr. Moony is sure that Mssr. Padfoot is having the time of his life somewhere with Mssr. Prongs and Mistress Lils.  Mssr. Moony would also like to add that Pronglet need only call, and he will come, whatever the reason."  I'm not quite sure what that means.  He's been a little off -- dead depressed, really -- lately.

From Hermione: "Please tell Harry to write me.  It's not healthy to be keeping things in, and he needs to talk about it.  He's moody enough as it is."  She didn't actually tell me to say that last bit to you, but she keeps writing you a ton of letters only to toss them in the bin.  I don't think I've ever seen her this wasteful of parchment.  I figured I'd save her the trouble.

Anyway, mate, write back if you can.  If you want to talk, I'm here, and if not, I'm still here.

Your friend,

Neville

Harry placed the letter down, more than a little shocked at his timid friend's attitude.  Neville, talking about fighting and dying?  Neville, talking about defying Dumbledore?  Harry supposed that maybe not just his own view of everything had changed that night in the Department of Mysteries, and found he rather liked the more assertive version of his friend.  He tapped his quill against his hands a few time, deep in thought, before opening the next letter.

Mr. Potter,

Attached to this missive you will find the last will and testament of Sirius Orion Black.  You need only read it and sign at the bottom for it to go into effect.  You and only you signing it will put it to into effect, as it requires your own magical signature.  If you agree to its contents, just sign, and feel free to keep this copy for yourself.  If, for any reason, you find fault with it, or do not wish to sign, please send it back to me via owl along with a letter explaining your refusal.  I am so very sorry for your terrible loss.

Barrister Tiburnius Waxford

Dearest Harry,

If you're reading this, Padfoot's chased his last car.  I'm so sorry I've left you, and for being absent through your childhood.  If I could change anything... well, let's not get into that.  I hereby declare Harry James Potter, Prongs Jr., hero, scarhead, quidditch god and sex machine to be my heir, the new Lord of the Moste Noble and Ancient House of Black.  Excepting a few items and monetary holdings outlined elsewhere to be given to Remus John Lupin, you are my sole beneficiary.

You get it all, kid.  The whole kit and caboodle, if you sign on the dotted line, so to speak.  However, I do have some requirements, outlined below, that you must swear to uphold, should you accept being my heir.

I, Harry James Potter, swear on my magic and all that is good in the world to do the following:

I will, to the best of my abilities, get good and shagged before the end of this year, as shagging is good for the soul and mine needs it more than most.

I swear, under penalty of most grievous bodily harm should I fail my duty, to prank Severus Snape at least once a month, for the remainder of my Hogwart's career, and shall give heavy consideration to doing it afterwards as well.

I will spend a goodly portion of this inheritance each month on something frivolous, just to make myself happy.

I shall get good and drunk as soon as humanly possible.  And I do mean, fall-down, knocked out sloshed, because as much mischief as I do get into, its almost always for some noble or heroic reason, and I'm a teenager for God's sake.

I will find out what the term cunnilingus means, and discover the joy of preforming it.  On second thought, I will actually ask Hermione Granger what that word means, preferably in the company of others.

I must not keep everything bottled up inside.  I will write in a journal, talk to a friend, owl Remus Lupin, or shout it from the Astronomy tower, so long as I get it out somehow, as it is not good for me, regardless of how sexy birds may find my brooding.

I will 'stick it to the man', as they say, as best I can.  For example, I may consider 'the man' to be Dumbledore, who takes far too much liberty with my freedom and life in general, Minerva McGonagal, who has far too little grey hairs on her head resulting from my own mischief and mayhem, authority figures in general, or an actual 'man', though my Godfather is not sure whether or not I swing that way.

I will listen to an hour of music every day, muggle especially as I need some joy in my life and my Godfather is fairly sure I've never heard of The Clash and believe that the Beatles are insects, and because there's like, what, 5 wizarding artists?  To that end, my Godfather has left me his most kick-ass and righteous collection of LPs.  I will not leave them to collect dust in my vault with the flimsy excuse that "muggle players cant work in Hogwarts", because I'm certain my good midget friend Filius Flitwick can show me how to charm them to do so.

I will also, as I make that request of Professor Flitwick, refer to him exactly as "my good midget friend", because my Godfather finds this hilarious and will surely be watching from the afterlife.  I'm also requested to refer to McGonagal as Mum from time to time, as she gets simultaneously weepy, joyous and furious when a student does so, and my Godfather also finds that hilarious.

I will never, ever, let Remus Lupin forget the time he was found semi-naked, drunk and passed out in the Gryffindor boys' dorm floor, arm around an equally starkers Prongs, both of whom woke up wondering where their dates had gone (my Godfather, being made of heartier stuff than the other Marauders, had most graciously kept the ladies company after the other two had passed out).  I also have photographic evidence of this in my vault and will show it to Moony whenever I can.

As it is a passing fancy of my Godfather's as he writes this, I will watch the American Muggle film "The Godfather".

I must not let Slytherin win.  At anything.  Ever.

In short, I will Live.  I will be a stupid kid.  I'll probably rip Lord Sheepfucker's testicals off at some point and save the bloody world and all that, but I won't make it my all.  I'm too important for that.  Not the Boy-Who-Lived or the Chosen one or any of that rubbish, but me, Harry.

That's all of it.  I bet you're grumbling right now, about how you can't do all this because of your destiny and blah blah.  (Regarding that, if the old bastard hasn't told you the Prophecy yet, force him).  Well, mate, that's shite.  You can and will, Harry, because what's the fucking point of it all if you can't?

Enjoy yourself Harry.  Don't miss me, because regardless of what a bastard I could be at times I doubt Heaven or whatever it is could refuse such a sexy bitch as myself.  I love you.  I never said that to your face because we're both too manly and so forth, but its true.  Never doubt it Harry.  Moony loves you.  I know that for a fact, because we both got smashed one night and I thought he was saying he loved being hairy, and then I said, 'Well, that explains that poofter moustache', and what he said is not repeatable to innocents such as yourself (though you better not be an innocent for much longer, mate!).  Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys, so many love you Harry.  Reach out to them, keep them close.

Love always,

Padfoot

Harry closed his eyes tightly, put quill to ink, and signed the will.

********************************************

Later that afternoon and not quite sure what he was doing, Harry found himself walking down the steps to the basement, where his cousin was currently working out.  He stood at the bottom of them for a few moments before Dudley paused in his exercise and saw him.  Undoubtedly remembering last night, both boys blushed.

"Hey."

"Er, hi."

"Harry -" "Dud -"

"You go first."

"Yeah, well, I... look.  I wanted to say, thanks for last night.  And thanks for...saving my life last year.  I thought about it and I needed to say... well, thanks."

Harry nodded, nonplussed at Dudley's non sequitur.  Whatever he had been expecting Dudley to say, it certainly wasn't that.

"Anytime...Big D."

Dudley smirked a little at that and resumed stretching.  "Did you, uh... want something?"

"Yeah, well, that's the thing... I don't really know how to say this but... look, will you train me?"

"Train you?"

"Yeah, uh, show me how to work out, box, that stuff...?"

Dudley looked shocked, but didn't say anything for a long while.  Harry was just about to go back upstairs when Dudley tossed him an extra set of gloves.

********************************************

Panting, exhausted, and relatively happy after a mutually therapeutic session of beating the shite out of one another, Harry and Dudley sat in the kitchen, hydrating.

"That was bloody brutal."

"It gets better.  You just gotta keep at it, ya know?  You're not in too bad shape, actually.  Do you play sports at... er, at your school?"

"I'm on my house Quidditch team, actually."

Dudley nodded, as if Quidditch was a perfectly normal thing and he had every idea what Harry was talking about.  Harry went to the ice box and got them both another soda, eliciting a nod of thanks from his cousin.  After a long and slightly uncomfortable silence, Harry spoke.

"Why are you doing this?"  Harry shut his mouth quickly, as that definitely wasn't what he meant to say.

"What do you mean?"

"This.  Us.  Hanging out like.. like cousins or something.  You hate me.  Your parents hate me, and surely don't want me around you.  So, why are you being... nice all of a sudden?"

"I don't really know."

"You don't KNOW?"

Dudley shot him a hard look and Harry blinked, wondering when he had got out of his chair.

"Look, well, I guess I've just... I guess I realized I haven't been the nicest bloke in the world to you."  At Harry's snort, Dudley glared again.  "Yeah, well, you haven't exactly tried being friendly to me either, have you?"

"You used to laugh when your dad beat me up!  Shite, you used to beat me up!"

"I haven't for a while now, have I?  And... bloody hell, I was a kid.  I knew it was wrong, but it was my Dad for fuck's sake."

"Still --"

"And he hasn't in ages, has he?"

Harry glared across the table, angry for having to make the concession, for even talking about this.  "No, but --"

"Yeah, well, why do you think he stopped?  I told him not to."

"You... what?  But... he still hates me.  They both do."

"I've nothing to do with that.  I can't change them."

Neither spoke for a few minutes.  Harry was shocked.  Dudley had actually spoke to Vernon on his behalf?  Dudley was the first to break the silence.

"I was a prat to you, I know that.  But look at it from my end, right?  You haven't exactly pretendedto not hate us too.  I used to... resent you.  You're m-magic," the forbidden word falling awkwardly from his lips.  "Plus, you got to leave here for most the year."

Harry began wondering how many times his cousin could surprise him in one day.  "You mean you don't... like it here?"

Dudley looked at Harry as if he were challenged.  "Would you?  Wait, that's rather stupid isn't it?  Would you, were you me?  Mum babies me.  She treats me like this golden boy and hangs on everything I do and I'm bloody SIXTEEN for Christ's sake.  And Dad, well... who could like Dad?"

Harry shook his head mutely, not quite sure what to say.  Dudley apparently had the same predicament.

"It wasn't just you," barely a whisper, Harry wasn't even sure he heard it until Dudley continued.  "He... well.  You were always smarter than me.  More polite, better looking, more talented.  He blamed me for that, he used to tell me that when he.. well, you know.  And I blamed you."

"Dudley, I --"

"I'm not asking you to be my mate, or forgive me, or whatever.  Why don't we just... lets start over, okay?"

Dudley stuck out a porky hand, looking Harry in the eye.

"We're... we're family.  We should try."

Slowly, Harry shook the proffered hand.  Both boys sat in a deafening silence for a long time, taking swigs from their cans of soda for lack of anything else to do.  The two shared a look, and Harry was more than a little surprised at what he was feeling.  Dudley was actually calling him...family.  Yes.  We should try.

"Dud, he doesn't still... does he?"

To Harry's surprise, Dudley barked out a laugh.

"What, now?  I could kick the shit out of him, and he knows it.  And you could probably wave a hand or blink an eye or whatever you sort do and he'd drop dead.  I think that's why he's so mad all the time now, since he knows that."

Both boys shared a dark laugh.

"Want to come to a party this weekend at Roxanne's?  She said to bring as many people as I could as her mum and dad are out of town and well... it'll be fun."  At Harry's doubtful look, he said quickly, "You'll have to sneak out after me though, as Mum wouldn't like to see us together.  Plus you should probably apologize to Roxanne for seeing her, uh, half-naked."

Harry couldn't help laughing at that.  "I suppose I should.  Sure, Dud... I'll come."

********************************************

That Saturday, Harry found himself slipping silently down the staircase of #4 Privet Drive, his Invisibility Cloak draped over his shoulders.  Reaching the back door, he stepped out into the night, crossing the yard and striding towards a car, parked on the corner of Magnolia Crescent.  He opened the side door and shrugged off the cloak.

"Jesus Fucking Christ!  Don't do that to a bloke, Harry."

Harry chuckled, stowing the cloak in the car's glove compartment.

"Sorry, but I didn't want the Nightmare to catch me."  The Nightmare was the nickname for Vernon the two had agreed upon during a boxing session earlier in the week.  For what felt like the hundredth time that week, Harry was shocked by the easy rapport that had developed between him and his cousin.  "Not to mention my minders..." This, he muttered under his breath.

"Right, well, good on you then.  Roxanne's place is only a few minutes away."

Harry shrugged as Dudley turned on the engine and popped a tape into the car's player.  Harry listened for a moment, surprised at his cousin's taste in music.  "Who is this?"

"The Stone Roses.  Roxanne mixed this tape for me.  Bloody brilliant, eh?"

Harry listened for a few moments, and had to agree.

"Was that a... invisibility cloak?"  Dudley whispered the last phrase, still uncomfortable talking about magic in general.

"Yup.  It was my dad's."

A raised brow and a mouthed 'wow' was his only comment.

"Hey Dud... If you want to use it, in the morning to sneak in if you er... stay at Roxanne's, that's okay."

Dudley shot Harry an amused look.  "She'll be too pissed after this party to function, let alone do that.  Besides, I'm not exactly fetching tonight with this great bloody black eye you gave me yesterday, eh?"

Harry had to smirk, proud that he had managed such a feat against his more experienced cousin.

"Thanks, though."

The rest of the short drive was silent, as Dudley pulled into the driveway of a swank looking house and parked on the lawn among dozens of other cars.  The party, apparently, was going swimmingly, as a bunch of rowdy kids drinking out of red plastic cups and smoking cigarettes congregated on the front steps.  Dudley hopped out of the car and walked confidently over, Harry, somewhat shyly, following in his wake.

"Oy, you wankers!  Started without me, eh?"

An emphatic chorus of welcome surprised Harry, who until recently had considered Dudley more the type to have minions, than friends.  A high pitched "DUDLEY!" preceded a tiny blur launching itself a bit unsteadily into his cousins arms.  "I was wondering when you'd get here Piers is already here and Samantha and Harley and --" Roxanne said all this very fast before stopping suddenly and turning to Harry, seeing him for the first time.  "Well, hello there."

Harry, was struck again at how beautiful his cousin's girlfriend was.  Even more so tonight, as she had dolled herself up quite nicely.  He noticed the tips of her hair was now blue, rather than pink and wondered just how frequently she dyed it.  Not for the first time in his life, Harry felt a twinge of jealousy directed towards his cousin.  "Hi."  He eventually, rather lamely, managed. The girl walked right up to him, almost brazenly close.

"So you're the cousin, eh?  Come to see more of the naughty bits, mm?"  Harry stuttered for a few moments before she laughed raucously.  "Oh, he's darling Dudley.  I didn't even knew you had a cousin."

Dudley shifted from side to side and looked at his feet.  He looked... does he look guilty? Harry thought to himself.

"Well, come on in then.  I've finished my fag anyway, and they're starting a game of 'pong' in the kitchen.  Have you ever played, Harry?  It's this American game Lynne's cousin showed her once, it's bloody fucking brilliant."  She continued on in this fashion, talking a mile a minute as Dudley and Harry followed in her wake, Dudley rather like an enamoured puppy and Harry grateful to not be left alone with strangers.  They stopped in the kitchen at a keg, Roxanne fixing two rather full cups for the boys and raising her voice to be heard over the blaring music.

"So Harry, why have I never met you?  I've been to Dud's for dinner few times now, were you at home at the time?  Do you visit Dudley often?  Do you go to Smelting's, like Dud?"

Harry took a long swig of his cup in lieu of answering, and found he quite liked beer that didn't have 'butter' in its name.  "I go to a boarding school during term.  I just live at Dudley's during summer, my parents are... well, the Dursley's took me in."

She gave him a sympathetic look, understanding what Harry had omitted.  Dudley stood next to her, arm cross her shoulders but looking noticeably uncomfortable.  Harry chugged his drink, finishing it astonishingly fast and refilled it.

"Well, someone's here to have fun, isn't he?  Harry, why don't you and Dudley play next game?  I'll find a partner."

Dudley looked nervously at his cousin.  "Harry's never played.  Plus, isn't there a queue?"

Roxanne threw back her head and laughed raucously again.  "I'm the birthday girl, aye?  I'll just tell them to fuck off."

"It's your birthday?  I wish I'd known, I feel rude not bringing anything."  Roxanne laughed again at Harry.

"Oh, you did bring me a present, Harry..." She grabbed Dudley and kissed him rather lasciviously.  Harry smirked at his cousin's besotted look.  "Well come on, boys, lets go."

The two let her lead them to what was apparently a huge block of wood propped up onto a bunch of chairs.  After amusedly watching Roxanne clear the current players away, Harry walked to one side with Dudley.

"Dud -- what the hell is this, mate?"

"A drinking game.  American's are nutters for it, apparently.  It's pretty fun."

"Yeah but, I've never played.  I'll make you look bad.  We'll lose."

Dudley gave Harry a long-long suffering look, as if he were taking the mickey.  "No one loses at this game, Harry.  Haven't you ever played a drinking game before?  The point is just to get smashed."  When Harry didn't respond, Dudley narrowed his eyes.  "You have... er... you've had alcohol before, right?"

Harry, slightly ashamed, shook his head.  Dudley let out a low whistle.

"Christ, what do they do at that school of yours?  Second thought, don't tell me.  Look, it's real easy.  Just followed my lead."

Harry nodded, but felt nowhere near reassured, as Dudley and Roxanne began setting up the game.  A slender girl came to the table, jet-black hair pulled back into an elegant pony tail.  Harry wondered who 'The Who' were, and thanked them silently for their making such a tight-fitting t-shirt, complete with a bulls eye drawing his eye to a most lovely part of the girl's anatomy.   She placed a handful of bottles on the table and walked over to Dudley's girlfriend.  Roxanne paused and slyly looked at Harry, noting his expression.  "Harry, this is Lynne.  Lynne, this is Harry, Dud's cousin."  The girl demurely tilted her head and smiled, which Harry, after swallowing and wondered when his mouth had gotten dry, returned.

Soon, the game started.  Harry quickly sussed out the rules, shaking off his nerves as he realized how easy it was.  Right Potter, Gryffindor courage and all that.  You're the bloody chosen one, you can surely survive a bloody drinking game like any muggle. Despite having never played, he and Dudley rather handily beat the two girls, more than slightly aided by the fact they were both already quite tipsy.  He felt inordinately proud of himself, having done alright.

"Oy, no fair!  You brought a ringer, Dud.  Harry's a right champ."  Roxanne giggled, finishing the last of her side's cups.  Harry felt Dudley clap him on his back.

"Not at all.  Harry here's never played, isn't that right, mate?"  Harry shrugged, surprised and more than a little pleased to feel Dudley drape his arm across his shoulders.  Harry wondered for a moment if his cousin was drunk, but then realized it would take quite a lot more to get someone of his size smashed.  Harry felt... good.  It occurred to him, it was the first time he had truly felt so since Sirius died.  This, whatever he had with Dudley -- he wouldn't call it a friendship quite yet -- was something he hadn't even realized he was missing.  It felt normal, right...familial.

He took the fresh drink Roxanne handed him as she took Dudley off his hands for a little personal time.  He looked into it and realized it was a coke... and taking a sip, more than just that.  You'd be proud of me, Padfoot.  I'm already fulfilling one of your last wishes tonight.  He almost choked on his drink as Roxanne's pretty friend, Lynne, sidled over to him.  He blushed madly, recalling another order Sirius had given him.

"Well hello there.  Harry, right?"  The girl put her hand forward, wrist limp.  Harry, rather proud at his boldness, took her cue and grasped it gently, kissing it.  She giggled and blushed prettily.

"Harry Potter.  Lynne?"

"Right in one."

Harry smiled, and thought to himself for the first time in a while: It's good to live.

********************************************

Hours later, Harry stumbled out of the still-going party, Dudley smirking as he half-dragged his cousin to his car.

"Don't quite hold your liquor well, do ya mate?  You were in a right state at the end, you know."

Harry eloquently responded by singing, rather off-key, the Hogwarts fight song.

After a bit of wrestling, Dudley managed to get him into the car, and plopped himself in the driver's seat.  Harry rolled down the window, and rather like a dog, stuck his head out the window and enjoyed the wind whipping his hair.

"If I knew you were a fun drunk, I'd have got you loaded much sooner.  What're you doing there?"

"Being Padfoot."

"Right."

Harry pulled his head back in and looked rather seriously at his cousin.

"Dudley, we're not becoming...mates, are we?"

Dudley started slightly at his cousin's frank tone, and smirked as he considered the question.  "I'm not sure.  Do you want to be?"

Harry, in his rather grasping way in this state, thought on that the best he could.  "Yes.  Yes, I believe I do."

"Then... then sure.  So do I."

Harry nodded solemnly, as if that settled everything.  Dudley flicked through various radio stations.

"Your girlfriend is very pretty.  Does she love you?"

"I don't really know.  I don't think I do her, yet."

"Well, she certainly loves certain bits of you, doesn't she?  And as I recall from last night, you do 'do her'."  Harry cackled at his own humor.  Dudley snorted.

"And that Lynne bird?  Really, mate, a closet?  Couldn't you bit a more classy than that?"

"Not at all.  I felt her up."  Dudley roared at that, and before long, Harry did too, both laughing as if it were the funniest thing they'd ever heard.  After what felt like no time at all to Harry, they reached #4, Dudley putting off the lights before pulling in the driveway, so as to not wake his parents.  He parked and took Harry's cloak out of the glove compartment.

"Right... you're going to wear this, and we're going to sneak very qui-et-ly into the house, as I think you'd rather not have my parents see you like this.  Nor would I, come to think.  Can you do that?"

"I can do lots of things.  I'm magic."

Dudley chortled and threw the cloak over his cousins head.  Grabbing Harry's arm firmly as they stepped out of the car, he began to lead him up the path to the front door.  It was then they both noticed Vernon standing on the front porch, pacing madly.

"D-Dad?  What... what are you doing up?"

Vernon whirled around at his son's voice, a furious look on his face.  "And just where have you been, boy?  At that skank's house?  I told you, I TOLD YOU, she's no good for you!  Really, dying her hair unnatural colors, acting a tart..."

Dudley drew himself up and glared at his father.  "I've told you not to call her that.  She's my girlfriend."  Vernon kept muttering and began pacing again, as if Dudley hadn't spoken at all.

"Just as well you weren't here, you dissapointment, you no good, bloody..."  He stopped and fixed Dudley with a manic glare.  "Well, want to know what you missed when you were rutting it up with your whore, do you?"  Dudley opened his mouth to angrily respond, before being cut off again.  "Your mother.  She had a heart attack."

"H-heart attack...?"

Vernon spat, looking disgustedly at his son, as if it was his fault.  "She's dead."