Chapter Text
Dudley's first year at Smeltings went by. He was big enough and brutal enough with his Smelting stick that the boys his age knew it wasn't worth it to cross him. And of course there was always Piers, skinny and sharp-eyed, whom Dudley shared a room with along with two other boys. Dudley found that it was just as easy to skive off but there were more consequences when mum and dad weren't there to stare down the teachers. None of it bothered Dudley much. He'd faced a giant, and even his most terrifying teachers weren't giants. Even the threat of the cane couldn't compete with a giant's huge pink umbrella and the pain of a tail sprouting from your behind. Dudley gained a reputation for easygoing fearlessness among his friends. His enemies—well, they mostly ran.
Dudley forgot about magic, as much as he was able, and about his folded paper book, which was lying at home shoved into the Cupboard Under the Stairs, where he'd hidden it before he left home since he knew it was the only place no one would look. He forgot so well that when the Dursleys drove to Platform 9¾ to pick up Harry, Dudley was sure he wouldn't be afraid: but then they stepped through onto the platform and looked around at people in robes, with owls and toads, and pointy black hats, waving wands, and Dudley realized that wizards had their own kind of Smelting sticks. Harry was with a bushy-haired girl and a tall, gangly ginger boy, and Dudley knew at once that he'd made friends at school. Imagine that!
The giant, Hagrid, had been right that Harry had changed being with wizards for so long. He moved differently, with a kind of open stride and bright-eyed grin that Dudley didn't recognize.
Dad seemed to notice that Harry had changed too, and he didn't like it. The minute they got home, he dragged Harry's trunk from the car and threw it into the Cupboard Under the Stairs, along with a sleek polished broomstick that could never have been used to sweep a floor. Harry winced when he saw dad throwing the broomstick in, but he didn't say anything, only glared sullenly at dad's turned back. But when dad tried to put the birdcage with Harry's owl in there too, Harry put his foot down.
"You can't put Hedwig in there," Harry said firmly. "She's an owl."
"I won't have that—that thing—flying around at all hours—" dad blustered.
"I'm keeping Hedwig in my room," Harry said.
Dad got a crafty look on his face, then, and pulled a padlock from his pocket. "All right, suit yourself," he said, and padlocked the owl's cage door. Hedwig shrieked in disapproval, and dad stepped back, a little ruffled. Then he firmed his expression and padlocked the door of the Cupboard Under the Stairs, too.
Dudley remembered at once that he'd hidden his folded paper book in there, under the mattress Harry used to sleep on. He looked at the padlock with as much dismay as his cousin, but when Harry turned his glare toward Dudley he gave Harry a sneer right back.
The owl, the Dursleys discovered, didn't play nice. Dudley wasn't bothered by the loud hooting from the Smallest Bedroom across the hall from him. He hadn't been bothered by any of the rowdiness at Smeltings either. When Dudley was out, nothing could wake him.
But it bothered dad plenty.
"Third time this week!" he roared across the table. "If you can't control that owl, it'll have to go!"
"She's bored," Harry said. "She's used to flying around outside. If I could just let her out at night—"
"Do I look stupid?" dad snarled. "I know what'll happen if that owl's let out." He and mum exchanged dark looks.
This could go on for ages, and usually did. Dudley interrupted the argument with a loud belch.
"I want more bacon."
"There's more in the frying pan, sweetums," mum said, looking over at Dudley with misty eyes. "We must build you up while we've got the chance… I don't like the sound of that school food…"
"Nonsense, Petunia, I never went hungry when I was at Smeltings," dad said heartily. "Dudley gets enough, don't you, son?"
Dudley knew he was getting what he wanted. He grinned and turned to Harry.
"Pass the frying pan."
"You've forgotten the magic word," Harry snapped.
The effect of this simple sentence on the rest of the family was incredible: Dudley gasped and fell off his chair with a crash that shook the whole kitchen; mum gave a small scream and clapped her hands to her mouth; dad jumped to his feet, veins throbbing in his temples.
"I meant 'please'!" said Harry quickly. "I didn't mean—"
"WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU," dad thundered, spraying spit over the table, "ABOUT SAYING THE 'M' WORD IN OUR HOUSE?"
"But I—"
"HOW DARE YOU THREATEN DUDLEY!" dad roared, pounding the table with his fist.
"I just—"
"I WARNED YOU! I WILL NOT TOLERATE MENTION OF YOUR ABNORMALITY UNDER THIS ROOF!"
Mum tried to coax Dudley to his feet as Harry looked between them and dad.
"All right," said Harry finally, "all right…"
Dudley let mum pull him back into his seat. She gave him an extra-large helping of bacon for all the trouble, and Dudley shoved a juicy strip into his mouth with a hum of satisfaction.
At that moment, dad cleared his throat importantly and said, "Now, as we all know, today is a very important day."
It was Harry's birthday, Dudley knew. After what happened when Harry turned eleven, Dudley had been worrying about what might happen on the day Harry turned twelve. He'd only said something about that fear once—to mum—but she'd hugged him and said, "nonsense, Duddikins. That kind of thing is just—superstitious nonsense! He's only got to be accepted to that place once, anyhow!" And then she'd gotten up and began to vacuum the front hall very loudly.
"This could well be the day I make the biggest deal of my career," said dad. "I think we should run through the schedule one more time. We should all be in position at eight o'clock. Petunia, you will be—?"
"In the lounge," mum said promptly, "waiting to welcome them graciously to our home."
"Good, good. And Dudley?"
"I'll be waiting to open the door." Dudley put on his most winning smile. "May I take your coats, Mr and Mrs Mason?"
"They'll love him!" mum cried.
"Excellent, Dudley," said dad. Then he rounded on Harry. "And you?"
"I'll be in my bedroom, making no noise and pretending I'm not there," said Harry.
"Exactly," said dad. "I will lead them into the lounge, introduce you, Petunia, and pour them drinks. At eight-fifteen—"
"I'll announce dinner," said mum.
"And, Dudley, you'll say—"
"May I take you through to the dining room, Mrs Mason?" said Dudley, offering his arm to an invisible woman.
"My perfect little gentleman!" mum sniffed.
"And you?" said dad viciously to Harry.
"I'll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I'm not there," said Harry.
"Precisely. Now, we should aim to get in a few good compliments at dinner. Petunia, any ideas?"
"Vernon tells me you're a wonderful golfer, Mr Mason… Do tell me where you bought your dress, Mrs Mason…"
"Perfect… Dudley?"
"How аbout: 'We had to write an essay about our hero at school, Mr Mason, and I wrote about you.'" This was too much for mum. She burst into proud tears and hugged Dudley, while Harry ducked under the table. Dudley was sure Harry was laughing. He would've been, if he'd heard a boy his age spouting such bull. But Mr Mason was an Important Person to Impress, and Dudley would say as much bull as he needed to for dad's sake.
"And you, boy?"
Harry fought to keep his face straight as he emerged from under the table, though he wasn't entirely successful. "I'll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I'm not there," he said.
"Too right, you will," said dad forcefully. "The Masons don't know anything about you and it's going to stay that way. When dinner's over, you take Mrs Mason back to the lounge for coffee, Petunia, and I'll bring the subject around to drills. With any luck, I'll have the deal signed and sealed before the News at Ten. We'll be shopping for a vacation home in Majorca this time tomorrow."
Dudley grinned.
"Right—I'm off into town to pick up the dinner jackets for Dudley and me. And you," dad snarled at Harry. "You stay out of your aunt's way while she's cleaning."
Harry took off through the back door the minute he'd gotten this permission. Dudley followed after him at a slower place, while Harry slumped down on the garden bench. It was a brilliant, sunny day, without a cloud in the sky. When Dudley was halfway across the lawn, Harry jerked up with a wild look on his face, staring into the bushes.
"I know what day it is," sang Dudley, thumping toward his cousin.
"What?" said Harry, still staring into the bushes.
"I know what day it is," Dudley repeated, coming right up to him.
"Well done," said Harry. "So you've finally learned the days of the week."
"Today's your birthday," sneered Dudley. "How come you haven't got any cards? Haven't you even got friends at that freak place?"
Dudley had kept a close eye on Harry when he came back from school. And this was how he realized that Harry, though he'd had all kinds of people hanging around him at the train station, never got any letters or any calls. He doesn't have friends after all, Dudley had thought. Maybe they only liked him because he was famous in wizard places.
"Better not let your mum hear you talking about my school," said Harry coolly.
Dudley hitched up his trousers.
"Why're you staring at the hedge?" he said suspiciously.
"I'm trying to decide what would be the best spell to set it on fire," said Harry.
Dudley stumbled backward at once. "You c-can't—Dad told you you're not to do m-magic—he said he'll chuck you out of the house—and you haven't got anywhere else to go—you haven't got any friends to take you—"
"Jiggery pokery!" said Harry in a fierce voice, his green eyes glittering. "Hocus pocus—squiggly wiggly—"
Dudley suddenly remembered that Harry was not intimidated by giants and had even, somehow, caused the death of a terrorist wizard when he was just a small baby. It was how he'd gotten the tangly-looking scar that snaked across his forehead and made strangers stare, and which Dudley usually didn't notice, it was as much a part of Harry's face as any other.
"MUUUUUUM!" howled Dudley, tripping over his feet as he dashed back toward the house. "MUUUUM! He's doing you know what!"
Mum knew that Harry hadn't actually done anything, but she took a moment out of doing the dishes to aim a heavy blow at Harry's head with the soapy frying pan. Then she gave Harry work to do, with the promise he wouldn't eat again until he'd finished. Dudley smirked, and when mum turned his way, he made a scared face and asked if he couldn't have some ice cream to steady his shaken nerves.
The frenzy in the house buzzed around until dinnertime, when mum shooed Dudley upstairs and into a dinner jacket and bow tie. When he was all ready, Dudley stood by the door and played through his lines like he was an actor on a TV script, while dad went upstairs to give Harry his last warning to stay quiet.
"May I take your coats, Mr and Mrs Mason?" Dudley asked, as the couple stepped through the door. Dad showed them into the lounge to introduce mum and poured some drinks.
The Masons looked appreciatively around the Dursley's well-kept home. Mum laughed and joined Mrs Mason in small-talk. The party was going perfectly.
And then a sound came from upstairs that sounded suspiciously like a wail.
Dad stopped speaking. A thunderous look crossed his face, but he pasted on a smile and continued.
A loud banging noise joined the wailing, and then Hedwig's angry screeches joined too.
The sounds subsided. Mum looked pleadingly at dad, who cleared his throat and said something about dinner.
Dudley wondered what Harry was doing upstairs that would cause so much noise. Maybe Harry had it in for dad and didn't want him to get this deal. Still, even Harry's lot would be improved if they got rich enough to holiday in Majorca. Mum and dad would be so pleased they'd go out every afternoon to the beaches, and Harry would be left alone all the time.
The banging and angry owl screeches stopped for a while, and then started up again. Dudley began to think that whatever it was wailing in Harry's room wasn't Harry at all. I knew we should've moved this dinner to tomorrow, Dudley thought, remembering the giant. The sounds quieted down again, and mum said desperately, "Oh, Mr Mason, Vernon's told me you're a wonderful golfer…"
"Well, I don't know about that," Mr Mason said. "I enjoy it, that's all." He gave mum a smile.
"Speaking of golf, have you heard about the time an American, a German, and a Japanese man went golfing?" dad said.
"I don't believe I have."
"Ah, you'll like it. See, at the third hole, they heard a phone ring. The American stepped aside, put his thumb to his ear and pinky to his mouth and had a whole telephone conversation. "Afterward he looks at the others and said, 'that's the latest American tech in cell phones. I have a chip in my thumb and one in my pinky finger and the antenna is in my hat. Great stuff, eh?'
"They keep going till the ninth hole when they hear a phone ring again. The German tilts his head to one side and has a conversation with someone in German. After, he looks at the others and explains he has the latest German tech in cell phones. 'A chip in my tooth, a chip in my ear and the antenna inserted in my spine. The wonders of German know-how!'
"When they get to the thirteenth hole, another phone rings and the Japanese man disappears into the bushes. The German and American trade looks and walk over to find the Japanese man squatting with his pants round his ankles.
"'What on earth are you doing?' asks the American."
A series of high-pitched yelps from overhead cut through the dining room, so loud they couldn't be ignored.
Dad grimaced and sprang to his feet. "Dudley must have left his television on again, the little tyke!" he shouted over his shoulder as he pounded away down the hall.
Dudley met Mr and Mrs Mason's disapproving expressions with a smile. "Sorry. I guess I was so excited by the thought of meeting you two that I forgot all about the TV," he said.
"Oh yes," mum said, "Duddikins thinks so highly of you, Mr Mason—you had to write an essay, didn't you, dear? At school?"
"Yes," Dudley said. "We were supposed to write about our hero, Mr Mason, and I wrote about you."
"Oh, well," Mr Mason cleared his throat. "I'm glad to hear young people today are taking drills seriously."
"Very seriously," mum said. "Diddum's going to go into the drill business like his father."
"Oh yes," Dudley said.
He'd never thought about it. He realized suddenly that he probably would go into drills. Dudley had nothing at all against drills, especially if he could do as well for himself as Mr Mason. He tried hard to keep up his charming smile.
Dad stumped back downstairs and the dinner-time talk flowed again.
"…tell Petunia that very funny story about those American plumbers, Mr Mason," Dad said. "She's been dying to hear it…"
"Oh, the American plumbers?" Mr Mason said.
There was a huge crash from the kitchen, like the shatter of a dish.
Mr and Mrs Mason stood up with a scream. Dad roared and sprinted into the kitchen to see Harry standing covered from head to foot in mum's pudding.
Mr and Mrs Mason pelted in after and stared in dismay at the small boy. Dad chuckled tightly. "Oh. I'm so sorry you had to see that—just our nephew—very disturbed—meeting strangers upsets him, so we kept him upstairs…" he waved the Masons back into the dining room, where they stood beside Dudley looking shocked.
"That was your cousin?" Mrs Mason asked.
"Yeah," Dudley said. "That's Harry."
"I didn't know," Mrs Mason said. "Does he go to school?"
"No," Dudley said. "He's not all there, really. I'm sure he wasn't trying to cause trouble. He just doesn't like guests."
Mum came back into the dining room with ice cream and a scooper. The Masons seemed to calm down a bit, though Mrs Mason kept glancing back toward the kitchen where Harry was still scrubbing at the tile floor. Mum plated healthy scoops of vanilla beside buttery after-dinner mints and had just started handing out the dessert when a huge barn owl swooped through the dining room window, dropped a letter on Mrs Mason's head, and swooped out again.
Mrs Mason screamed like a banshee and ran from the house shouting about lunatics. Mr Mason stayed just long enough to tell the Dursleys that his wife was mortally afraid of birds of all shapes and sizes, and to ask whether this was their idea of a joke.
Dudley grabbed the Masons' untouched plates and dug into the biscuits and ice cream that had been placed on them while dad grabbed the owl's letter and stormed into the kitchen.
"You didn't tell us you weren't allowed to use magic outside school," dad said loudly. "Forgot to mention it… Slipped your mind, I daresay… Well, I've got news for you, boy… I'm locking you up… You're never going back to that school… never… and if you try and magic yourself out—they'll expel you!"
And laughing like a maniac, he dragged Harry back upstairs.
The next morning, dad got the number of a handyman and paid him in cash to put bars on Harry's window, while Harry sat in the kitchen where mum could keep an eye on him. Dudley took a stack of pancakes and piled them onto his plate. The sound of the workman was loud enough that, when mum got up to wash the dishes, Dudley dared to say, "what'd you do that for?"
Harry looked over with a bleak look. "What?"
"Mucking up dad's deal."
"It wasn't me," Harry said. "It was something called a house elf. He had to punish himself whenever he spoke badly of his masters."
"What, really?"
"He was a slave," Harry said dully. "He couldn't wear anything except a pillowcase. He hit himself on the head with a desk lamp. I dunno. He didn't want me to go back to school."
"Why not?" Dudley asked through a mouthful of pancakes.
"Apparently someone wants to kill me."
Dudley paused with his fork in his mouth, then swallowed. "At school?"
"Yeah."
"Damn."
When the workman had gone, dad spent the afternoon fitting a cat-flap to the bedroom door, so that small amounts of food could be pushed inside three times a day.
They let Harry out to use the bathroom morning and evening. Otherwise, he was locked in his room around the clock.
Hanging out in the back garden wasn't half as much fun without Harry there. And Dudley didn't like the idea of inviting Piers over. In order to go into Dudley's room, they'd have to walk down the hall, and Piers might see the cat-flap on the door. Piers knew the Dursleys didn't have a cat, only an owl and a nephew.
It was summer. The days were long and hot, and the sun shone bright. Dudley found his way to the park where he and the gang would kick a ball around aimlessly for hours.
Three nights later, Dudley woke to the sound of Dad screaming "THAT RUDDY OWL!" and pounding on Harry's door. There was the sound of a car revving and then dad shouting "Petunia! He's getting away! HE'S GETTING AWAY!"
Dudley looked out his window. There, framed against the moon, was a car with the group of gingers he'd seen at Platform 9¾ in it, and Harry was in it too, and the car was flying. Dudley got out of bed and went to the window to watch as the car arced over the blazing blue night like a comet, his eyes open.