4 Privet Drive, the Dursley residence.
The battered wooden door and its frame remained in their damaged state.
A gust of wind caused the half-hanging door to sway back and forth, a pitiful sight.
"Harry, pay attention to my pronunciation and wand movement!"
Taking advantage of the empty surroundings, Dudley raised Diggle's wand and pointed it at the front door. "Reparo!"
A soft white light flashed, and the door and frame seemed to rewind in time. Wood splinters and fragments flew back into place, and the frame straightened itself.
In no time, the Dursleys' front door was as good as new.
Dudley's spellcasting lesson went off without a hitch, succeeding on the first try.
Harry watched intently, committing every detail to memory.
"I remember Hagrid bumped into the living room ceiling this morning and left a dent. You'll fix that later," Dudley assigned the homework.
"Yes, cousin!" Harry replied promptly.
Just then, familiar voices came from inside the house, muffled by the newly repaired door.
"Listen! Our darling boy is back!"
"Duddy sweetheart, and Harry! You're finally home!"
Vernon and Petunia rushed to the door to welcome Dudley and Harry.
They hadn't left the house all day, too anxious to even call a repairman to fix the door and ceiling.
Vernon had taken the day off to stay with his wife, nervously waiting for their son and nephew to return safely from the dangerous wizarding world.
Seeing Dudley unharmed, they finally relaxed.
Once inside, Dudley and Harry avoided mentioning the dangers they'd faced, not wanting to worry the Dursleys further.
Besides, Dudley had worked hard to convince his parents to embrace magic. He wasn't about to scare them back into their old, fearful ways.
The family happily entered the house.
In the living room, under Dudley's guidance, Harry proudly used Diggle's wand to cast the Repairing Charm, fixing the dent in the ceiling.
As for why they used Diggle's wand, it was because the Ministry of Magic didn't allow underage wizards to perform magic in Muggle-populated areas.
New wands bought from Ollivander's had a trace called the "Trace," which allowed the Ministry to monitor underage wizards' spellcasting locations.
The Trace would disappear when the wizard turned eighteen, so adult wizards' wands weren't monitored.
To avoid unnecessary trouble, Dudley decided to let Diggle's wand serve as a practice tool for him and Harry at home.
After all, Diggle's wand wasn't too picky about its master.
Watching Harry wave the wand and perform magic, Vernon and Petunia showed some surprise but weren't overly shocked. They knew Harry was a natural wizard and had already begun to change their views on magic.
But the next moment, seeing their son's fingertips glowing with golden light, the Dursleys were utterly stunned.
Dudley had fetched a few useless tin cans from the storage room. Without using a wand, he simply placed his hand on them. A flash of golden light later, the dull, rusty cans turned into gleaming, pure gold.
"Tin... turned into gold?!" Vernon exclaimed, his face a mix of disbelief and awe.
Petunia was equally astonished. She never imagined that a single trip to the wizarding world would give Dudley such extraordinary abilities.
"Is this magic? Magic can do this...? If I'd known, I might not have been so against wizards before."
Vernon picked up one of the gold cans, examining it closely. But then, a thought struck him, and he quickly put it down, his face filled with concern.
"Duddy, my boy, tell me the truth. Does turning things into gold affect your health or... your lifespan?"
Petunia's heart tightened, and she looked at Dudley, waiting for his answer.
"Of course not! No side effects. I just can't do too much at once—100 ounces a week at most," Dudley said with a smile, pulling out the lump of gold sand he'd transformed in the vault and placing it into one of the gold cans.
"100 ounces is a lot! And every week? We're going to be filthy rich!" Vernon's eyes gleamed with excitement, his earlier concern forgotten.
"But keep it quiet, Mum, Dad. Not every wizard can do this. We need to keep it secret and make our fortune quietly," Dudley warned.
"Dad, you can quit the drill company. No matter where we go, we'll live comfortably."
"Dudley, are you saying... you and Harry aren't going to Hogwarts?" Petunia asked, her sharp intuition picking up on the implication.
"We'll decide tomorrow," Dudley said, not hiding his thoughts. "Tomorrow, a special guest is coming. Mum, you used to exchange letters with this person when you were little. You were pen pals."
"What?!" Petunia was even more shocked. "Darling, are you saying... Dumbledore is coming?"
She still remembered her childhood regret and had never forgotten the name.
"Exactly!" Dudley said seriously to his parents. "Tomorrow, Harry and I will negotiate with Dumbledore. If we can reach an agreement on certain matters, we won't need to move, and Harry and I will attend Hogwarts as planned.
If we can't come to terms, we'll need to consider moving abroad.
And, Mum, be ready. I've become a wizard, and you'll soon fulfill your childhood dream too!"
"You mean... I'll become a witch?" Petunia's emotions were a mix of excitement and uncertainty. Though Dudley had mentioned it before, she hadn't dared to hope.
But now, with Dudley's living proof before her, she couldn't deny it.
"What about me, Duddy? And me!" Vernon's attitude had completely flipped. Now, he was eager to become what he once despised—a wizard.
"Sorry, Dad. I can't guarantee when you'll become a wizard. It depends on how my negotiations with Dumbledore go tomorrow. If things go well, you and Mum can become wizards together. If not, it might take a few years," Dudley said apologetically.
"Oh, that's alright, son. I can wait," Vernon said magnanimously.
After returning from the wizarding world, the Dursley family's conversation remained harmonious and full of love and understanding.
Everyone supported Dudley's decisions, as always.
As night fell and after a hearty dinner, Harry's eleventh birthday came to an end.
Dudley, in his bedroom, took stock of his current resources and made detailed plans before drifting off to sleep.
Tomorrow—an uncertain tomorrow—awaited, with a challenging "battle" ahead.