Notes: Developed from drabbles written for live journal's "hp_cestfest" Haiti drabbles.
Warnings: Cousin-cest (if you think cousins is incest, which I don't), anal intercourse.
Harry wasn't sure what he would find when he got to the Safe House. He finalised the Protection Wards as Kingsley (Minister Shacklebolt, he reminded himself) had shown him. Then he knocked on the front door.
"Who is it?" asked a querulous female voice.
There was a pause. Then Petunia set off on a sharp rant about the injustice of being incarcerated in a 'very common' house, and Vernon raged about that sort of weirdo and how they shouldn't be allowed to interfere with the lives of normal people. Harry thought about walking away and leaving them there.
The door opened. Dudley stood there; he stretched out an arm.
"Thank you for coming," he said. "Please come in."
Harry looked under his big cousin's arm. Vernon was that odd purple colour again. "I don't think I will. I just came to tell you it's safe for you to leave here now."
"Is it over?" Dudley asked. Harry was struck by how measured and reasonable his voice was. Belatedly, he realised that Dudley's hand was still extended in his direction.
Tentatively, Harry placed his own hand next to it. Dudley took it gently and gave it a polite shake. It was a big hand, a strong hand, and it swallowed up Harry's almost entirely; Harry felt safe in there.
"Yes, it's all over," Harry replied. "The danger's gone."
Dudley looked into his face. "You killed the evil wizard?"
Harry had assumed that Petunia was oblivious in her screeching world of fury, but she must have been listening to their exchange, because at that point she attempted to throw herself between them.
"So, you're a murderer now? I always knew you'd come to no good! My poor Duddikins, I'll protect you from him!"
'Duddikins' lifted her gently but firmly and placed her well inside the room, before stepping into the front garden and shutting the front door behind him. He and Harry were alone now; it was peaceful.
"How's it been?" Harry asked.
Dudley rolled his eyes. "But they're my parents. It's my responsibility to put up with them."
"What have you been doing stuck in there for months?"
"Thinking about things." Harry had wondered. The last time he'd seen his cousin, Dudley had made the first, hesitant steps towards reconciliation, but he was so much more mellow now. Dudley continued, "And working out." Well, yes, Harry had tried not to notice that, but it was difficult to ignore all that packed muscle. "Look, Harry, I'm sorry. For everything. I'd like us to – I mean, I know you've got your own friends and everything, but it would be nice to ..."
"We could maybe go for a drink some time?"
"Yeah. How can I get in touch with you? You have a mobile number or something?"
Harry thought about giving him an address. But, no, he didn't want to risk the Dursleys having access to any contact details for him.
"I'll write to you," he said. "You going back home?" Of course it wasn't home for Harry any more and it had never felt like a real home to him.
Dudley shrugged. "Someone's got to look after them." He smiled softly. "I'll be waiting, Harry. We'll have that drink, yeah?"
"I promise," Harry answered. And he meant it.
They met two weeks later on Little Whinging High Street on a Saturday night. Harry had never been there after dark before. Herds of girls in fancy dress whistled at packs of lads intoxicated by their own Lynx fumes.
Dudley was looking like something out of the Muscle magazines still stuffed between the mattress and Harry's old bed at Hogwarts. (He must remember to retrieve them some time.) His blond hair was cropped short and he was wearing just a skimpy white vest under an open leather jacket. His jeans were tight enough to show tendons.
As Harry approached, they smiled at each other, a little nervously.
"Which pub, then?" Harry asked.
"There's a place I usually go. But you might not like it."
Harry shrugged. Then, to his surprise, Dudley took hold of his hand and lead him into a side street. As they passed the front of the red brick building, Harry noticed something on a poster and started to say, "Erm, Dudley, I think this might be a --" but by then they were inside and it was clear that it was and that Dudley knew that it was.
"We can go somewhere else if you'd rather," Dudley said quietly.
Harry couldn't answer because his jaw had dropped. There was no way he was going anywhere else now he'd seen this. The men! Wow! And they were all men: men in unbuttoned shirts with oiled chests, men in tight T-shirts, men in skimpy shorts, men in leather trousers, all standing in pairs or groups, chatting, flirting, dancing together.
Dudley squeezed and Harry remembered that they were still holding hands. Like a couple.
"I owe you at least a drink," Dudley said and lead him over to the bar. "I want to get this out of the way. I've been a right bastard to you. I never should have bullied you like I did – me and the gang – I never should have listened to Mum and Dad. I should have stopped them. I wish there was some way I could make it up to you."
Harry had started to think of a few ways.
In a way, it would have been nice to have gone back to Privet Drive, to have walked in hand in hand and gone straight upstairs to Dudley's bedroom – but the sound of Vernon having a coronary on the other side of the door would not have made the most erotic sountrack for their lovemaking.
They got a room at the local Travel Lodge. It was clean and soulless, not much more than a bed. That was all they needed. Harry sank happily into the strong embrace of his big cousin. He ran his fingertips over bulging biceps and felt safe and sexed-up.
Dudley kissed his face and slid a hand down Harry's chest, his abdomen, to the bulge at the front of his trousers. Cupping him in his huge hand he asked, "What do you want, Harry?"
Feeling the answering erection against his sternum, Harry dipped his head down and murmured against it, "I want this inside me." He unfastened the button and the zip.
Harry had messed about with Ron enough times, but he'd never dealt with anything that big before. He wasn't sure it would fit. Dudley took time and care in preparing him. Somewhere in the past few months of hiding out he had learnt patience. He also had a huge, hardly used, tube of lube in his pocket.
As his cousin pounded into him, unerringly hitting his prostate every time, Harry felt his legs bouncing off the firm muscles of Dudley's thighs. A strong grip held his hip and his cock was encased in a massive, warm hand. He came hard all over it.
When Dudley climaxed soon after, he was careful to brace himself on one arm, rather than collapsing on top of the smaller man and crushing him. He pulled out and lay on his back, still embracing Harry, who twisted round so he could curl up on Dudley's broad chest. He felt protected by the thick arms wrapped round him, arms that no longer threatened him.