Here, Birdie!

Here, Birdie!

The hot dog was steaming hot in Dudley's mouth. With a groan, he gulped in some of the cold air around him, something that made him look like a fish being trapped on shore. "Fuck," he muttered, and turned around when he heard a soft giggle behind him. He gave the girl his trademark glare, perfected through twenty years of practise, and had the pleasure of seeing her face turn slightly pale before she ran over to her mother who was eyeing the cheap CDs outside the record shop.

Bloody Hell, mustard on my shirt. Damn you, Harry, you said you'd be here by now. How long had he waited? He glanced briefly at his watch; half an hour. He started contemplating leaving, but something held him back - the unpleasant tingling of a guilty conscience. You owe him this, Dudley, a voice said in the back of his head. "Fuck," he muttered again, and took another bite of the hot dog in his hand while he watched the people walking up and down Charring Cross Road.

It was September and unusually cold for this time of year; a chilly wind was blowing and Dudley pulled his coat closer. Suddenly, he got the feeling that he was being observed. With a frown, he looked at the people passing by, but no one seemed to give him a second glance. Dudley slowly shook his head before lifting the hot dog to his mouth once again.

"Mine," a voice said. A shrill voice that made Dudley's skin crawl - he was after all only a few yards away from the entrance to Britain's best kept secret, and who knew what kind of freaks waited behind that door? His hand stopped in mid-air, his mouth half open; he closed it, swallowed nervously, and turned to see this person that dared to put a claim on his lunch. Or perhaps it was Dudley himself who was to be the meal? He could not see anything unusual, just people minding their own business as they hurried from God knows where to other equally unspecified places. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Am I hearing things?

"Mine." The voice was more insistent now, and it was definitely coming from below him. He looked down to see a seagull standing only a few feet away from him. With a snort, he kicked out, making the bird fly up in the air only to land once more at a safer distance. "Mine."

"Piss off, or I'll eat you with garlic and pepper, you miserable little...thing," Dudley muttered, and looked at his watch again. Harry had better come soon, or he would leave this place for the warm comfort of the pub down the road. Dudley did not like to be kept waiting.

Suddenly, the world exploded in a cascade of white feathers. "Mine!" The voice was shriller than ever and instinctively Dudley pulled his hand up to his chest to protect his lunch. For a fraction of a second he stared into the eye of the bird; black and strangely cold, like the eye of a reptile. Then it stood on the pavement once more, calm and focused as it eyed him with eerie determination.

Dudley stared at the white bird with big eyes, and saw a red spot on its wing. Ketchup. A glance down his shirt told him that the rest of the ketchup was now smeared all over his chest; in fact he looked like the victim of a shooting accident. "Oh, no!" He searched through his pockets for a handkerchief, and found a paper napkin - but trying to clean himself up only made it worse. "This shirt is new..." The seagull took a step towards him, and Dudley involuntarily took a step back. With a thud, he knocked into someone on the street.

"Watch were you're going!" an angry voice called out. "Wait a minute, I know you - "

Dudley turned with a frown and a curse comment ready on his lips, but stopped when he saw the man. There was something familiar with him, though he could not place him; with the long hair and the shabby appearance he was definitely not some old friend of the family. "Do I know you?"

"No, but I know you - you're Harry's cousin, aren't you? Duddykins?"

"For Christ's sake, don't call me that!" Dudley eyed him suspiciously, only his parents used that name so how would a stranger know it? In fact, Dudley would deal out knuckle sandwiches to anyone who dared to call him that to his face.

The man didn't seem to register his scowl though. With a grin he slapped Dudley on the shoulder, and the younger man had to repress the urge to slap his face in return. "'Sup, Duddie? Life's treating you all right?"

"As a matter of fact, no. I have a situation here, and would appreciate it if you could leave..."

"What sort of situation would that be, then? Don't worry; a friend of Harry's is a friend of mine! That situation would be your shirt, right? Well, can't help you out here." He leaned closer to Dudley in a gesture of intimacy. "Too many Muggles about, you know. Come into the Leaky Cauldron, and we'll clean you up."

Dudley stared at him with unease. "You're one of them? Well, thanks, but I'll buy a new shirt later, thank you very much. Have a good day." With that icy remark, he turned around to make it clear that the conversation was over, and found the seagull still sitting there, waiting for him with that unnerving expression. His grip around the sausage in his hand hardened, and half of the bread came off and fell to the ground - with a swift movement, the seagull ran up to him and snapped it up right in front of his feet. Dudley stepped back.

"That one's a bit on the cheeky side, innit?" The man bent down and took one of the crusts in his hand. "Here birdie." He reached out his hand, and the bird gave him the calculating stare again before trotting over and pecking his hand so hard that the man gave out a muffled cry in pain. He too stepped back to stand beside Dudley.

"That's one mean bird," he muttered, clutching his hand.

"Yeah." Dudley nodded, without taking his eyes of the white enemy on the ground. The seagull tipped its head to take a closer look at the sausage.

"Maybe you ought to give him that."

"No way!" Dudley barked back. "I bought this, it's mine! I'm going to eat it, and if that thing is hungry he can find a rubbish tip somewhere." He demonstrated by taking a big bite, and the seagull lowered its head and came towards them.

"Maybe we should...you know, leave?" The stranger took a hold of Dudley's arm, and slowly he followed. With calm steps they walked down the road, passing the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron as the man started whistling. "Just to show it that we don't care. My name's Mundungus, by the way."

"That's a weird name," Dudley replied as he glanced behind them.

"Thanks..." Mundungus sounded slightly offended, but Dudley cut him off.

"It's following us."

"Well, Dudley isn't exactly the greatest name either... What?"

"It's following us. Look. Couldn't you use your wand? You do have a wand, don't you?" Dudley's voice took on a slightly mocking tone.

"Of course I have a wand! But there's rules 'bout this, you know, I can't just start waving it about when there's Muggles all over the place, can I? I'll get into trouble with the Ministry, and if there's one thing I don't need it's more trouble." Mundungus glared at him. "And don't take that tone with me; I'm not the one who nearly wet his trousers because of a bird."

Mundungus turned and walked back towards the Leaky Cauldron, but stopped after a few yards. The seagull stood there, blocking the pavement. Mundungus took two steps to the right to walk around it, but the bird followed. Then he took three steps to the left; once more the white devil came after.

"Maybe he thinks he's an eagle," he sighed when he returned to Dudley's side. "Just give him that bloody sausage. Why haven't you eaten it already?"

"Because it's gone cold, and there's no ketchup left," Dudley growled at him. "It tastes like shit."

Mundungus stared at him with his mouth open. "Then why not just give it to him?"

"Because it's mine!" Dudley barked, and pointed at the ketchup-smeared front of his shirt. "I bought it with my hard earned money - it's my property! And I'll defend this sausage to the day I die. It is my right as a capitalist."

"You're just as deranged as that bird," Mundungus replied with a wry grin. "You know, it's because of people like you that this country has gone to the dogs. You don't care 'bout anyone except yourself, do you? No understanding of the word 'share'. It's bloody sad, it is." He shook his head, a red cloth in the face of Dudley Dursley.

"The last thing I need is for an overgrown hippie to tell me the difference between right and wrong," he snarled, his face purple from anger. "Shut up and go back to Woodstock, you friggin loser, and cut your hair while you're at it. What's sending this country to the dogs are people like you; walking around with flowers in your hair and living off the state, not giving a toss about this country's economy."

Mundungus gave him the finger. "What I hate are spoiled brats like you who think they have the faintest clue of what real life is all about. You don't know a damned thing, you just repeat what your Daddy's saying like a bleeding parrot. Yeah, that's what you are, a mindless parrot that simply repeats everything without even understanding what it's saying. Fuck you, parrot, I'm leaving." With a scowl, Mundungus turned and walked up the road, not minding the seagull that was watching them with keen interest.

"Hey!" Shaking from anger, Dudley followed him and grabbed the man's arm. "Don't you leave until I've had the pleasure of punching your nose, you wizarding freak..." Taking a firm grip on the collar of Mundungus' old coat, he dropped the sorry remains of the hot dog, and in a flurry of white feathers the seagull snatched it.

Both men stared at the white spot in the air, until it became a tiny white dot. In the end it disappeared behind the roof of a house and was gone.

"Dudley! Mundungus! What's going on?" Harry's worried face appeared beside them. "Sorry I'm late, I was caught up and... What's going on?" He too raised his eyes to the sky, before turning back to them with a frown. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing," Dudley answered and let go of Mundungus' collar.

The other man snorted and gave him an ugly glare. Then he shrugged, and repeated Dudley's words. "Yeah, nothing." He wiped some imaginary dust from the collar of his coat, and gave Harry a stiff nod. "I've got an appointment. See you, Harry."

"I didn't know you two knew each other," Harry said as he walked down the street with a sullen Dudley beside him. "Maybe we could meet up later and have a snack? Hey! Dudley! Where are you going?"

"Over my dead body," the other man shouted at him, rapidly walking in the other direction. "Just stay the hell away from me, you and your freaky mates!"

Harry scratched his head as he stared at his leaving cousin. "What did I do?" he muttered quietly.