When Dudley met Harry

When Dudley Met Harry

Chapter 3: The Great Escape

The weeks following the discovery of Dudley's magical abilities were some of Harry's best at Privet Drive. After exchanging several letters with an incredulous Ron (who still didn't believe Dudley wasn't exactly a Muggle) and a thoroughly over-excited Hermione ("Oh, but think of all the practical applications, Harry. If we discover and replicate what Hagrid did, it may eliminate the occurrences of Squibs altogether!"), they had decided to congregate in Diagon Alley. Unfortunately, Ron was still entirely mistrustful of Dudley, while all Hermione wanted to do was get her hands on Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.

Other than the letter-writing, Harry's summer was spent quite differently than usual. After Uncle Vernon left for work around eight o'clock in the morning, Dudley would sneak out of his room where he was supposedly playing video games and crawl up the ladder leading to Harry's bedroom. Aunt Petunia, busy with housekeeping and gossiping, never noticed what was occurring beneath her nose. And Dudley was actually quite good company, Harry realized. At times his behaviour lapsed back into what Harry called "punching-bag mode," but for the most part, he could be quite friendly when he put forth the effort. This friendliness was expressed a few days after Mr. Weasley's unexpected visit.

Harry lay in his bed writing a letter to Ron when he was interrupted by loud voices flowing through the open cat-flap.

"I can't let that freak run about the house, Dudley. He's dangerous, do you hear?" came Uncle Vernon's grunt.

"But daddy, I can't make fun of him properly when he's always locked in his room. It's actually making me very depressed," insisted Dudley. Upstairs, Harry gasped. That silly bloke is actually going to get me out of here. He creeped out of bed and tiptoed to the opening in the cat-flap.

The sharp click of high-heels echoed across the room below, followed by Aunt Petunia's shrill, yet somehow sugary voice, "Oh, is my little Duddykins depressed? What is it you want, sweetums?"

"I want Harry to be let out of his room. I miss making him look stupid," and with that, Dudley began to sob loudly into his mother's shoulder. What a drama queen, thought Harry sardonically.

Aunt Petunia rounded on her husband, "Vernon! What have you done to our poor little Dudders? You set this right at once!" Harry sniggered evilly, imagining the look on Uncle Vernon's face as he was torn between letting a wizard run about his house freely and keeping his child nicely spoiled.

"Fine, he can join us at meals," said a very annoyed Uncle Vernon, "But only then, and only if he cleans up afterwards. I won't have that, that boy making messes and not cleaning up after himself."

From then on, Harry was allowed the luxury of eating non-water-based meals at the table. Of course, he had to endure endless insults from a very imaginative Dudley and oftentimes he ended up with his head under the table in silent laughter, unable to control himself any longer, but all in all, it was worth it.

~*~

Harry slumped lethargically down the stairs one morning, barely able to keep his eyes open. He had spent nearly the whole night telling an overenthusiastic Dudley about Diagon Alley. They were due to go the next day. Dudley had told his parents he was going to a party and he needed a man-servant. Harry often wondered just how he was related to such gullible people. As he reached the foot of the stairs, a large, repetitive thumping noise announced Dudley's arrival. He bounced in front of Harry, shaking the heavily polished wood floor, with a silly grin on his face, his eyebrows approaching his hairline in his excitement.

"Calm down Dudley," grumped Harry sleepily, "It's way too early in the morning for this kind of cheerfulness." Dudley's face grew incredulous.

"But Harry, tomorrow I'm going to get a wand!!"

Harry sighed. He knew there was no way for Dudley to get a wand when he wasn't going to Hogwarts, but there was nothing he could say to make Dudley get that through his thick skull. Harry decided it would be simplest to give Dudley a fake wand from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and tell him it was supposed to turn into a rubber chicken at times.

They sat at either side of the square kitchen table while Aunt Petunia finished frying an omelet. As she was filling Dudley's plate with a generous portion of the breakfast, Uncle Vernon came out of his study with the morning paper and sat to Harry's left. Breakfast proceeded in silence for a few minutes until Dudley looked across the table and announced, "Harry, your hair looks like a crow that's been at an Alka-Seltzer."

Harry controlled his laughter enough to look hurt at this statement (although Uncle Vernon agreeing loudly with this sentiment did help a bit). "And you know what else," Dudley continued, his upper lip twitching noticeably, "Your eyes are the color of a fresh pickled toad."

This time Harry didn't have any laughter to control. "How--how did you know that?" he squeaked. Dudley looked at him strangely, just as Uncle Vernon looked at Dudley.

"Why on earth would you ever want to pickle a toad?" he asked suspiciously.

But before Dudley could answer, a large barn owl swooped in through the kitchen window, dropped a letter on the table next to Dudley, and swooped out with a piece of bacon in its beak.

Dudley picked up the letter and gasped. "It's addressed to me! It says, 'Dudley Dursley, Second-largest bedroom, Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.'"

Aunt Petunia turned quite green while Uncle Vernon's face transitioned smoothly from a ghastly white to a beet-red. Both sat silently, as if waiting.

Dudley opened the letter, breaking the Hogwarts seal on the back, and unfolded the thick yellow parchment. He read,

"Dear Mr. Dursley:

You have been accepted to Hogwarts Schoo--"

Uncle Vernon snatched the letter from Dudley's hands. "Go," he trembled, not in his usual growl, but in a deadly whisper. "Get out of my house. The both of you leave. I will not tolerate any of this nonsense in my house."

Aunt Petunia squeaked, as if wanting to say something, but Uncle Vernon rounded on her finally yelling, "This is all your fault. It's all your family's genes! I'm not changing my mind on this, Petunia."