"Mum, I think we can look after ourselves," Dudley said, frowning at his parents.
Vernon's work at Grunning's had taken a turn for the better lately. He'd been assigned a business trip to Germany to secure a huge deal, and if he signed it, he'd be promoted to sales director. The only hitch was the length of the trip—three months, give or take.
You'd think Petunia could just stay home and look after Dudley and the boy, but... Vernon was, for lack of a better word, a complete mess without Petunia by his side. If she wasn't there every evening when he came home, he'd be groggy and useless the next day, and his work efficiency would plummet. So Petunia had to go with him, thankfully with the company footing the bill.
"Darling, you're still a child," Petunia said with a straight face.
At that, Dudley rolled his eyes on the inside. What ten-year-old do you know who's just won the high school boxing championship? This was his most recent trophy, you see—he'd moved up from the middle school category he'd won last year.
I'm ten, and so is Harry. In a different world, at this age, we'd be getting our own starter beasts and travelling the world. He mused to himself.
"I can cook and do the laundry. I mean, we can both look after ourselves." Dudley insisted, a touch of desperation in his voice.
"Dudley, we're not just going for a day or two, it's three whole months. I am not leaving my child home alone," Petunia said. Whether she meant to or not, she had once again chosen to ignore Harry's existence entirely.
"And I'm not leaving you alone with that freak, either," Vernon boomed, pointing at Harry. "Who knows what he might do to you? You might end up just as queer as he is."
I'd be barmy not to want to be a wizard, I'd give anything for it,Dudley thought.
"Then I'm not going to Aunt Marge's. Absolutely not!" Dudley said, with a finality that made it clear he meant it. "Absolutely not" had been the very first phrase he'd ever learned to say.
Marge Dursley was Vernon's older sister, Dudley's aunt. She was the one who had helped the Dursleys get their lives in order, and Dudley was grateful for it. But to have to live with her for three months? That was a bridge too far.
It wasn't that Aunt Marge didn't like Dudley—on the contrary, she adored him, and would always give his chubby face a good pinch every time they met. The real problem was their wildly different lifestyles.
Marge had twelve bulldogs. That wasn't the main issue. The main issue was that she loved her bulldogs more than she loved people. To live with her, you had to be prepared to eat and sleep with twelve bulldogs, and you had to accept that there might be a bit of dog slobber in your bowl at any given moment.
Dudley liked dogs, but he didn't like dog slobber.
Seeing Dudley's attitude was firm, Vernon and Petunia exchanged glances. They knew that leaving Dudley with Marge would lead to nothing but trouble.
Should we take Dudley to Germany with us?
But the cost, and his schooling...
The two had a silent conversation with their eyes.
Noticing that his parents' resolve was softening, Dudley seized the chance. "I can stay with Harry at Mrs. Figg's house next door." Going to Germany was out of the question—the language barrier would be a nightmare, and it sounded boring. He'd much rather stay close to Harry and keep reaping the rewards.
Mrs. Figg, whose full name was Arabella Figg, was a kind, spry old woman who loved to wear knitted snoods and lived just a few streets down from the Dursleys. Two streets away was so close it might as well have been next door. Whenever the Dursleys went out or on holiday, they would leave Harry with her. The Dursleys were on quite good terms with Mrs. Figg, likely because she'd often looked after Harry for free.
"Dudley, we're going for a full three months, we can't come back in between..." Petunia tried to reason with him, but his mind was made up. He wouldn't stay with Mrs. Figg, nor would he be left alone. That left only one option: Aunt Marge's house. How on earth would a foodie like Dudley survive? He was an eater, and he would not compromise.
After a long argument, Dudley still refused to budge. Left with no choice, Vernon and Petunia agreed to entrust them to Mrs. Figg.
Harry, who had been a little sad about having to leave his tiny cupboard for three months, immediately perked up when he heard he would be staying with Dudley.
Noticing Harry's good mood, Vernon leaned his huge, wobbly frame down, pointing a fat finger at the boy. "I'm warning you, boy. Even when we're not here, you keep your distance from Dudley. Don't you dare try to hurt my family. If I find out you've done anything, you know what will happen..." He finished with a menacing shake of his arm, which was as thick as Harry's waist.
Harry didn't understand, but he nodded obediently anyway.
Perhaps Harry had forgotten, but when he was very young, a magical outburst or some other bit of accidental magic had occurred... and a young, less-beefy Dudley had gotten a bit hurt. Vernon may not have been a good uncle, but he was a great husband and father.
Mrs. Figg's house was decorated in a very old-fashioned way. The size was about the same as the Dursleys', but the styles were completely different. The house was a bit dim, the furniture was simple, and the living room only had a fireplace, a worn-out sofa, a table, and a few chairs. There were no electronics, not even a wireless radio for an old lady to listen to.
An antique, the Dursleys had always called her.
There was a faint but pungent smell of cats in the air. "Pungent" was a matter of opinion, though—Dudley didn't mind it. Vernon hated the smell, so he stayed outside while Petunia did all the talking.
Mrs. Figg cheerfully agreed to watch over Dudley and Harry. Before leaving, Petunia discreetly handed her some money. If it was just Harry alone, they might have had the gall to ask her to do it for free—after all, he hardly ate. But with Dudley there? He could eat more in a day than Mrs. Figg ate in a week.
For three whole months, the Dursleys weren't so shameless as to ask for that much free labour. Besides, the Dursleys had a pretty decent reputation on the street, at least among the normal folk.
As soon as Petunia and Vernon left, Dudley began searching Mrs. Figg's house with practised ease. His eyes suddenly lit up, and with an agile movement, he grabbed a passing cat.
As the small cat looked at him with an expression of pure, unadulterated despair, Dudley buried his chubby face into its silvery-grey belly and took a few deep breaths.
He let out a contented groan. "Ahhh, you're the best." From the looks of it, this wasn't the first time Dudley had done something like this.