"I can't perform magic," Mrs. Figg said, and Dudley heard the deep, echoing sadness in her voice. "So I'm afraid I can't teach you, dear." The regret was palpable; to be born into a world of wonders but unable to partake was a cruel fate. "And even if I could," she continued, "I couldn't teach you. You must go to Hogwarts to learn. It's a rule of the wizarding world."
As she spoke, she began to tidy the messy room. The chaos left by one monster book and three agitated cats was considerable.
"Hogwarts?" Dudley asked, helping her pick up scattered items. He briefly wondered if he should bring up the current state of the book he'd punched. He wouldn't have to pay for it, would he? What do wizards even use for money? Some kind of gold coin, wasn't it?
"That's right," Mrs. Figg said, her spirits lifting at the mere mention of the name. "It's the finest school of magic in the world. Harry will certainly go there when he's old enough." Her tone was full of longing.
A matching surge of yearning filled Dudley. To learn magic... it was all he wanted. "Can I go to Hogwarts too?" he asked, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.
Mrs. Figg shook her head, her expression softening with pity. "I don't know, child." She knew the chances were astronomically small. Muggle-born wizards were rare, their numbers drawn from the vast ocean of the non-magical population. The odds of a specific Muggle child having magic were less than winning the lottery.
As they chatted, the room was quickly put back in order.
"Alright, dear," Mrs. Figg said, dusting off her hands. "I'm going to start dinner. Harry will be home soon."
As she turned to leave, Dudley spotted a book on a dusty shelf. He pulled it down, his heart giving a hopeful leap. The title was embossed in elegant silver letters: Magical Drafts and Potions. It was the first-year textbook, written by the famous Potions Master, Arsenius Jigger.
It made sense that a Squib would have magical books. Just because she couldn't perform magic didn't mean she couldn't read about it, always hoping that one day, her talent might awaken.
"Please," Dudley said, holding the book out to her. Before she could refuse, he added, his voice full of raw desire, "I really, really want to learn magic."
The heartfelt plea struck a chord. Mrs. Figg, who understood the painful divide between the two worlds better than anyone, couldn't bring herself to say no. It would be too cruel to deny the boy this small dream. Besides, Dudley's situation was unique. As Harry Potter's cousin, he was destined to be part of the magical world in some capacity. There was no harm in it. Potions, as the book itself would state, involved very little wand-waving. As long as you had the right ingredients—many of which were impossible to find in the Muggle world—even a non-wizard could, in theory, brew a potion.
"Oh, by the way," Dudley said, his voice suddenly sheepish. He held up the limp Monster Book of Monsters. "I, uh... I hit it. And it's been acting a little strange ever since." He braced himself. "Is it... dead?"
Mrs. Figg waved a dismissive hand. "Don't worry, dear. These things are far more resilient than they look. A punch from you is nothing. An adult could hit it with a hammer, and it would be fine. See?" She grabbed the book's spine and gave it a firm shake.
The book's four eyes slowly blinked open.
"Dealing with them is quite simple, really," she explained. "You just have to stroke the spine, like this... Hmm?"
The book did not react as expected. It didn't struggle or snap its teeth. It just stared blankly into space, its tongue lolling out as drool dripped onto the floor.
Oh, no, Dudley thought, a flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck. I've knocked it stupid. It must have a severe concussion.
Mrs. Figg was silent for a moment. "Well," she said finally, "even if it is broken, it's fine. I never liked this book anyway." And besides, she added silently, I was just looking after it for someone else.
From that day on, Dudley's life found a new rhythm. School, exercise, and every spare moment in between were spent devouring Magical Drafts and Potions. Mrs. Figg had assumed his curiosity would be fleeting—Potions was, after History of Magic, the most tedious subject on the Hogwarts curriculum—but she was mistaken. Dudley was utterly engrossed.
Harry found it baffling. His cousin had always been a good student, but this was a new level of obsession. Dudley was so consumed by the book that he sometimes had to be reminded to eat—an unheard-of phenomenon for the Food Protector. Harry had once peered over Dudley's shoulder out of curiosity, but the dense pages of text sent him retreating immediately. Active studying was not his forte; he was content with average grades. He didn't even read the page closely, never knowing that years later, the difference between aconite and wolfsbane would be a question on a very important test.
Life at Mrs. Figg's was blissful. There were cats to cuddle, magic books to read, and the freedom to cook whatever he wanted. He was swimming in an ocean of new knowledge, and it was exhilarating.
A month later, he read the final page of the Potions textbook. He had absorbed all the theory. Now, all that was left was practice, but Mrs. Figg would never allow a child—let alone a non-wizard—to attempt something as dangerous as potion-brewing in her house.
His study of the subject had come to an end. As he wondered if he could persuade Mrs. Figg to lend him another book, a long-absent notification chimed in his mind.
Learning Task Completed: Finished the first magic book.
Reward: Activating Shinji Matou's magician talent.
The system, as always, had its own peculiar timing. It never issued tasks, only rewards, long after the fact. A slow smile spread across Dudley's face. Things were finally getting interesting.
***
(End of Chapter)
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