“It’s fine,” Harry assured her. “It doesn’t matter, honestly.”
“Doesn’t matter?” repeated Hestia, her voice rising ominously. “Don’t those people realize what you’ve been through? What danger you are in? the unique position you hold in the hearts of the anti-Voldemort movement?”
“Er — no, they don’t,” said Harry. “They think I’m a waste of space, actually, but I’m used to —”
“I don’t think you’re a waste of space.”
If Harry had not seen Dudley’s lips move, he might not have believed it. As it was, he stared at Dudley for several seconds before accepting that it must have been his cousin who had spoken; for one thing, Dudley had turned red. Harry was embarrassed and astonished himself.
“Well . . . er . . . thanks, Dudley.”
Again, Dudley appeared to grapple with thoughts to unwieldy for expression before mumbling, “You saved my life.”
“Not really,” said Harry. “It was your soul the dementor would have taken. . . .”
He looked curiously at his cousin. They had had virtually no contact during this summer or last, as Harry had come back to Privet Drive so briefly and kept to his room so much. It now dawned on Harry, however, that the cup of cold tea on which he had trodden that morning might not have been a booby trap after all.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows – J.K. Rowling