"Mum, Dad, I think we can take care of ourselves," Dudley said, a frown creasing his brow.
Vernon Dursley's career was finally taking off. Grunnings was sending him to Germany for three months to negotiate a major contract. If he succeeded, he was in line for a promotion to Sales Manager. Normally, only Vernon would go on a business trip, leaving Petunia at home to look after the boys. But Vernon was, for lack of a better term, a "Petunia-addict." If he didn't see her at the end of each day, his work efficiency plummeted.
So, Petunia had to go with him. Fortunately, the company was footing the bill.
"Darling, you're still just a child," Petunia said, her expression deadly serious.
Dudley had to physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes. Have you ever met a ten-year-old who won a middle-school boxing championship? That was his latest title—the high school division, no less.
Harry and I are ten, he grumbled internally. In other worlds, we'd be old enough to get our starter Pokémon and travel the world.
"I can cook. I can do the laundry," Dudley argued forcefully. "We can take care of ourselves."
"Dudley, this isn't for a day or two. It's for three whole months," Petunia insisted, her gaze once again selectively sliding past Harry. "I will not leave my child at home alone."
"And I won't have you staying alone with that... freak," Vernon chimed in, his voice thick with emphasis. The word "freak," of course, was aimed at Harry. "Who knows if he'll turn you into one of them."
I wish, Dudley thought. I would love to be a wizard.
"Then I'm not going to Aunt Marge's," Dudley declared, his tone firm and unyielding. "Absolutely not."
Marge Dursley was Vernon's sister and Dudley's aunt. The Dursleys' recent good fortune was largely thanks to her help, and Dudley was grateful. But living with her for three months was out of the question. It wasn't that Aunt Marge disliked him; on the contrary, she doted on him, always giving his cheeks a loving pinch whenever she saw him.
The problem was her twelve bulldogs. Marge loved her dogs more than she loved people. Living with her meant eating and sleeping with twelve slobbering canines, with the constant risk of finding dog drool in your dinner. Dudley liked dogs just fine, but he drew the line at eating their saliva.
Seeing his resolute stance, Vernon and Petunia exchanged a worried glance. They knew that sending Dudley to Marge's would be a disaster.
Should we take him to Germany with us? Vernon's eyes seemed to ask.
What about the cost? And his schooling? Petunia's gaze replied.
Sensing their resolve wavering, Dudley made his move. "Harry and I can stay with Mrs. Figg next door."
Germany was a non-starter for him. Between the language barrier and being separated from Harry, his "golden goose" for system quests, it was a losing proposition.
Mrs. Arabella Figg was a kind, energetic old woman who lived just two streets over. She had a fondness for knitted shawls and often looked after Harry for free when the Dursleys went out. Because of this, the Dursleys maintained a good relationship with her.
"Dudley, it's for three months," Petunia tried again, but his attitude was firm. It was either Mrs. Figg's or Aunt Marge's, and Dudley the Food Protector would never compromise on his meals.
After a bit more arguing, Vernon and Petunia finally relented. Harry, who had been dreading a three-month exile from his newly renovated cupboard, immediately brightened at the news that he would be staying with Dudley.
Noticing Harry's flicker of happiness, Vernon bent his large frame down to loom over the boy. "I'm warning you, boy," he growled, pointing a thick finger. "Even when we're gone, you'd better not lay a hand on Dudley. You'd better not do anything to my family. If I find out... you know what will happen." He raised a fist thicker than Harry's waist for emphasis.
Harry, though confused, nodded obediently. He didn't remember it, but when he was very young, a burst of accidental magic had caused a minor injury to Dudley. Vernon might not have been a good uncle, but he was a fiercely protective husband and father.
Mrs. Figg's house was like a time capsule. It was the same size as the Dursleys' home but worlds apart in style. The rooms were dim and sparsely furnished. The living room held little more than a fireplace, a simple sofa, a table, and a few chairs. There were no electronics, not even a radio. The air was thick with the pungent, unmistakable smell of cats.
Vernon detested the smell, so he waited outside while Petunia handled the arrangements. Mrs. Figg readily agreed to take in both boys. Before they left, Petunia slipped her some money. They could shamelessly ask her to watch Harry for free—the boy hardly ate anything—but with Dudley's voracious appetite, that was out of the question. Even the thick-skinned Dursleys couldn't bring themselves to ask for that much.
Once his parents were gone, Dudley began to prowl through the familiar house. Suddenly, his eyes lit up. With a surprising burst of agility, he scooped up a passing kitten. The small, silver-grey cat looked on with wide, desperate eyes as Dudley buried his face in its soft belly fur and took a deep, loud sniff.
He let out a moan of pure, unadulterated pleasure.
"Ahhh," he sighed contentedly. "Snowball is the best for sniffing."
From the practiced ease of his actions, it was clear this was not the first time.
***
(End of Chapter)
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